Come in, Stranger
by All the kings ham
Summary: Nick has always been good at finding trouble- and trouble has always been good at finding him. AU: samifer, case fic, no one dies
1. Chapter 1

note: So, I actually finished this whole 200 page story a week ago, happily posting it to my AO3 for the last half of a year... and then realized I'd never put any of it over here.

I feel like the samifer love is a little less on this site, and that makes me sad, but if you're out there, I hope this story finds you well, friends.

* * *

It was a Tuesday night, for a few more minutes any how.

Just the same kind of innocuous, boring, old, middle of the night, just got off a twelve hour shift, and feeling dead in his bones kind of Tuesday night that Nick had already survived roughly a few thousand of at this point in his life. And nothing interesting had ever happened in the whole history of Tuesdays- so he had no reason to be suspicious of this five minutes to midnight, dark as hell except for the unwavering green glow of the traffic light, Tuesday night.

His hands smelt like hospital soap. Clumsy and coarse fingers shaking only a hint with weariness as he lit a cigarette from the little round lighter, before shoving it back into it's slot on the dashboard and blowing a thin line of smoke out the car's open window.

The empty streets shuddered through a wave of yellow light, then red, as the traffic signal cycled on, still going through the motions even if the only car out at the intersection remained idling exactly where it had been for quite sometimes now.

Cigarette paper clung dryly between his lips as Nick ran his hands through his hair, then over his eyes, pressing his thumbs lightly against his lids, pushing back the overwhelming need for sleep. Just a few miles to home, and his bed, and a handful of hours of sleep. Left foot slipped from the break to the gas, and he took his old car out of neutral just in time to hear the sirens cut through the silence.

A black and white came tearing around the corner past him, going south at a truly alarming speed. Two more cruisers followed before Nick slowly crept through the intersection and started on his way home.

Someone, somewhere had stirred up some kind of late night trouble, but it wasn't any of his business. Only thing he cared about right now was that he was finally going home.

It would have been nice if home wasn't also south, in the same direction of trouble, but his neighborhood was tucked off in the corner of a fairly quiet development, so he told himself some unfounded stories on how quiet and perfect everything would be once he got home.

And on a Tuesday night, which should have been exactly the same as ever Tuesday up until this point, it all _should_ have been just that simple.

Having the passenger side door flung wide open as he rolled through a stop sign, was a little jarring to the whole plan.

Having a man throw himself down onto the bench seat beside Nick sort of decimated that plan all together.

"Drive." This stranger demanded.

If there had been anything more than stars in the sky- a sliver of moon, or hell, even a working streetlamp, then Nick would have been able to see what the man looked like other than shadowy and big. Neither of these descriptors were particularly comforting.

"Get the hell out of my car," he counter offered the uninvited passenger.

Sirens were still crying somewhere out in the night.

"Please." The man pleaded with him, desperation cutting in.

But Nick had never been all that interested in charity, and he could smell blood.

If he didn't spend most of his time in a hospital, perhaps the subtle and coppery smell would have been unnamable. It was definitely blood though, and over the low rumble of the engine, the stranger's breath sounded harsh and forced.

"Get out of my fucking car."

On the other hand, the gun that came out of the dark and pointed rather unsteadily to the side of his head was a fairly convincing argument. "Just drive."

And so he did.

A pained kind of grunt came from the passenger seat. "Not this way."

Nick realized that he's kept on in the direction of home. The same direction that the police had gone, and probably the same direction that this man had come from.

So he hung a U-turn and rambled down an east bound road.

The barrel of the gun eased off of his skin and Nick was sure that if his whole body wasn't humming with adrenaline that the gesture would have made him relax slightly.

"You got some place in mind, big boy, or am I just supposed to dive on indefinitely?"

Another grunt was his only answer.

"Might I suggest a hospital? I mean, they're going to have some interesting questions for you , but all things considered it might not be a bad idea."

The man almost laughed, or at least, that's what Nick's brain told him the horrible sound coming from the seat beside him was.

"I'm guessing it's a bullet wound, and this isn't your first time." Nick was kind of shocked at how steady his voice could be when there was still a firearm visible in his peripheral.

"It's definitely not my first time," which was said with too much amusement to be healthy, "but no… no hospital."

"Your call, big boy."

What followed was not a particularly companionable silence.

Nick flicked but butt of his cigarette out the open window. "Look, I can see you're having a bad night, hiding from the po and bleeding on my upholstery and all, but I'd like to go home and go to bed at some point- so what's say we get this... _whatever it is_ over with."

Not even a grunt in answer this time, and there was no way that they were going to keep this up all night.

"Look, you son of a bitch, either tell me where we're going or get out." Technically there was a third option of stealing Nick's car, but such a thought was too terrible to even say out loud, "I'm not fucking driving around all night while you-"

And it was then that he noticed that his companion's silence had settled into something less stubborn and or mysterious, and into something altogether more concerning.

The uninvited hitchhiker was slumped limply against the window, shallow breaths barely even fogging the glass. Nick slammed the breaks, throwing the car into neutral and unbuckling his seat belt.

The man didn't stir when they ground to a halt, and that was a bad sign all on it's own.

"For fuck's sake." Nick's hands went to the man's throat, feeling for a pulse beneath his surprisingly hot, sweat slick skin. And yes, obviously he wasn't dead, not if he was still breathing those sharp little gasps every few seconds, but Nick was going through the motions. He's done this what felt like a hundred times. It was all muscle memory and thoughtless, quick, rough movements .

Really, other than the fact that they were in the front seat of his car, and that there was a gun (something heavy and nameless that Nick quickly tossed into the backseat and out of the way), this was like any other work night. Working in an emergency room had done wonders to desensitize himself to this sort of thing.

The stranger was laid down over the bench seats, head pressed against Nick's thigh and the man's long legs sprawled chaotically against the door and spilling out under the dash. The dome light was flipped on, watery light that did very little other than hurt Nick's eyes and show that his passenger's shirts were plastered darkly to the right side of his ribs. The man didn't fight as Nick peeled back the wet jacket and flannel, then pulled up the cotton t-shirt with an unpleasantly moist noise, revealing a hole hardly bigger than a pencil eraser.

Nick slipped his hand out from under the arching curve of this stranger's ribcage, happy to have not have found an exit wound, even if that meant that the bullet must have been lodged somewhere interesting that could only be guessed at during this particular juncture.

As makeshift emergency rooms went, the car was not ideal, but there were some TacoBell napkins and electrical tape in the glove box, and neither of them were really in a position to be too picky at this point.

It was only when pressure was unkindly applied to the bullet wound that the man regained consciousness with a startled gasping noise that was forced through his teeth as his hands came up to claw at Nick, grasping clumsily at his shoulder.

"Whoah there," Nick eased, not letting up on the pressure, feeling the napkins growing damp beneath his hand. "You've lost some blood," a _lot_ of blood if the man was in the passing out phase of things. "We're going to the hospital now, alright?"

"No," his voice had grown weaker, and from where his head was cradled in Nick's lap, those big dark eyes of his staring up at him, pleading with him… well, it was one of the most pitiful things that he'd seen in a long time. "Please… I can't."

The hand that was gripping Nick's shoulder like a vice, probably smearing blood all over his neck, had started to shake.

"I'll be fine." The stranger's words slurring and it was obvious that he was on his way back to unconsciousness. "Jus' give me a minute."

Which was funny enough that Nick found himself laughing. Laughing in a sort of sleep deprived, adrenalin high, manic kind of way. Laughing and making bad decisions.

He was rather good at both.


	2. Chapter 2

In the six years that Nick had worked in the ER- and the two years before that in radiology- he'd never once contracted hepatitis, tetanus, or tuberculosis. He was rather proud of that fact.

Considering that he wasn't exactly the most cautious of men on the best of days, he took his clean bill of health as nothing short of divine intervention.

He looked at the blood on his hands and slumped deeper into his chair.

Blood up to his elbows, blood on his chest and pants… blood on his face, all of it the blood of a stranger. Nick looked rather threateningly at the unconscious, mostly naked feral man that he'd picked up off the street- and made a solemn oath to put the bullet right back where he'd fished it out of should his yearly check up suddenly raise any red flags.

He hadn't lied to himself in the beginning of this.

He'd never once thought that it was a good idea.

But as time kept on going, the weight of this bad choice had started to grow more and more apparent.

If he had to guess, he'd put that weight at around two hundred or so pounds. This man here on his table was not a small or light man, and Nick had had a hell of a time getting him in from the car.

God, but he was tired.

Tired down in his bones.

If he'd had his say in things he would have been in bed about four hours ago.

Instead he'd had to haul ass back to the hospital, 'borrow' a few things, and then treated himself to hours of patching up and removing police grade shrapnel from a man who'd recently put a gun to his head.

Nick scrubbed up in the kitchen sink, slipping out of his scrubs and tossing them into the laundry hamper out in the garage, before padding down the hall in just his boxers to snag a blanket off the back of the couch and go collapsed back down into his uncomfortable dining room chair.

The unconscious man remained fairly stable, or at least he was breathing steadily on his own. Seeing as Nick hadn't been able to figure out a good way to smuggle a heart monitor out of work under his jacket like he'd been able to do with everything else he'd taken, he'd been forced to take the man's vitals the old fashioned way.

The pulse in the fugitive's throat was faint but steady beneath Nick's fingers.

Good.

It was pretty much the only thing about this situation that was looking up so far.

This man here, with his good bone structure and well developed biceps, was either a fitness instructor or a career criminal. Judging by the collection of old and new scars, many of which looked like they came from stabs, Nick was willing to bet that the stranger wasn't teaching zumba classes on the weekend.

Nick pulled his blanket around his shoulders, feeling sleep dragging at his eyelids. And he couldn't give a good god damn about what this man on his table did in his free time. Nick wasn't about to judge. But the fact remained that here they were. And this man and his skill for getting shot by police stood between Nick and sleep.

"Alright, big boy." Nick traced his thumb down the line of the man's carotid artery, stopping at the divot of his clavicle. "I don't have any fancy alarms to go off if you decide to stop breathing, so just promise me that you won't die if I close my eyes for a bit."

The man, with his damp hair plastered to his forehead and his skin so pale (though no longer greyish) from blood loss- opted not to answer Nick's request aside from continuing to draw breath.

And Nick needed no more encouragement than that.

He slept there at the table, using his folded arms like a pillow, and sleeping half sitting up like a desperate man is prone to do in situations like this.

.:.

"Dean?" Came the confused call that pulled Nick back from a deep and dreamless sleep.

Instantly he had regrets. Every inch of him was aching and sore. Almost as if he'd come off of a 12 hour shift on his feet, and then been dumb enough to sleep in a wooden chair. He slowly sat up, stretching his back and wincing as his tight muscles protested the movement.

He stifled a yawn and looked at the clock on the wall. 6AM.

It's was only 6-fucking-AM.

He'd been allowed to sleep for a whopping two hours.

Nick turned that sleep deprived, stunned confusion of his towards the man on the table.

Though he was sweating now, a rosey bit of color to his face and neck and chest, the stranger still looked fairly out of it. Despite the fact that he was mumbling nonsense involving phrases like ' _deputy_ _is_ _a_ _skin_ _walker_ ' and ' _she's got the keys_ '- Nick had his doubts that his strange companion was actually awake.

Nick slid his fingers along the man's throat, settling over his rabbiting pulse.

Frowning, he checked the saline and blood bags that he'd hung over the light fixture, following the iv tubes that trailed down and were taped to and in to the stranger's right arm. Everything seemed in order. As best as Nick could tell.

"You doing ok there, champ?"

No answer.

Oh, but what Nick wouldn't give for some nice expensive monitoring equipment. Verbal confirmation of _ok-ness_ wasn't as informative and honest as a machine would have been.

Though any kind of conformation at all from any source would have been nice right now.

The man just continued to sweat and faintly call for someone named _Dean_.

Nick found himself shuffling sleepily to to the kitchen and back with a handful of wet paper towels. Cleaning the guy up would have been easier if Nick had seen to it a few hours ago before the blood had dried in a nice flakey patina smeared carelessly from the arch of his ribs down to the deep V of his hips.

And really, if it wasn't for the scars that looked like knife wounds and old bullet holes (and … claw marks?) Nick really wanted to assume that this guy was some sort of fitness model or body builder. Possibly a male escort?

No.

They weren't aesthetic muscles for show. Nick sat himself back down, tossing his wad of reddish paper towels to the floor. These here on his table were the hard, lean muscles that you usually saw in fighters. MMA, boxing, that sort of thing. Nick checked the man's hands and reaffirmed his guess in the old bruises and scars along the pale knuckles. Two fingers looked a little crooked like they'd been broken years ago and reset badly.

He made a note to himself that once this man was awake he was out of the house. Too big and too strong for Nick to handle if things got out of hand.

With that comforting thought, Nick started to drift his way back towards sleep- only to be very suddenly startled back awake as the man on his table reached out and hit him.

Though 'hit' was a strong word for it.

It was really more of a uncoordinated arm spasm that ended with Nick getting cuffed smartly across the side of his head.

"Hell." He rubbed his ear, leaning away from the still sleeping patient.

Eyes still closed, lips parted as he took in air and turned it to carbon dioxide like a champ.

"Damn you." Nick forced himself to stop rubbing the side of his head. It was really more startling than painful. "I'm trying to help you, you ass."

The man shifted again, arms twitching and head turning faintly side to side. Bad dreams perhaps. Or maybe he was finally starting to wake up.

Oh, and that promised to be a treat if the car ride that they shared was any indication.

Nick rested his fingers along the man's throat in a way that was starting to feel almost routine. Comfortably warm skin. Steady pulse. Flushed cheeks. Things seemed to be stabilizing out. Yay.

The sooner this big hunk of man was up and mobile the sooner that Nick could return to his regular boring life.

The arm with all the tubes and tape, the same one that had clocked Nick a few seconds ago, came up and grabbed clumsily at his shoulder.

A remarkably strong grip for someone who was bleeding out only hours before.

And Nick wasn't exactly used to getting manhandled in the early hours of the morning. Which meant that the sudden unexpected physical contact elicited a rather involuntary reaction from him in the form of a closed fist.

Under other circumstances, Nick would have felt bad for hitting a patient. But they weren't in the hospital right now and this man _had_ put a gun to his head earlier. Besides, the guy hit him back. Sort of a rough flail of limbs as he started to wake up and get his bearings.

There was no need to feel guilty.

Nick had just hit the man in the bend of his elbow, a weak point of his arm to get him to let go of his shoulder.

And the half unconscious, recovering from a bullet wound, giant of a man on the table, punched Nick square across the jaw.

Then Nick was on the floor and his ears were ringing and his vision was blurred. Things started to clear and from his low vantage point he could see what look suspiciously like the man on the table pulling his IV out.

"Hey now. Don't take that out. Blood transfusion. You were shot." Short, concise sentences were best as he wobbly came up to his feet, gripping the back of the chair for support.

The tubes had already been pulled out though, and who does that? Who sees helpful medical equipment and just yanks them out of their arm without a thought?

Probably people who wake up in pain on a wooden table in a strange house.

Maybe it wasn't such a strange response.

At the same time, would it be wrong to strap the man down to the table?

Just to keep him from hurting himself?

Despite the fact that it would be mostly for safety reasons, the answer remained an emphatical yes.

It was always wrong.

Tying people to tables is wrong.

Nick steadily reminded himself of that.

And yet, something about the man sitting on his table, with wild eyes and a handful of tubing that was steadily dripping red, really, really made Nick consider how good it would feel to restrain him.

Unhelpful line of thought right there.

"Who are you?" Ah, and there was that rough voice that had assaulted Nick in his car a few hours ago.

"I'm a doctor. I took a bullet out of you."

"I…" The man was really good at frowning. Hair falling into his confused eyes as he looked around Nick's small but clean dining room. "This isn't a hospital." And somethings were a little too obvious to need to be pointed out, but the man had lost a lot of blood tonight, so Nick wasn't going to hold it against him.

"No, because at gunpoint you informed me that you were a big boy and not going to go to the hospital tonight."

He looked at his side, at the tape and gauze that covered many small and meticulously sutures. And then he looked at Nick. It was a long look, so questioning and uncertain.

It was about that time that Nick became oddly aware of the fact that he'd never gotten around to getting dressed after tossing his dirty scrubs into the laundry. So here he stood, awkwardly off to the side of the table, in just his boxers.

Usually he was home alone and things like this were comfortable.

Usually he didn't have an audience though.

With a hint of self consciousness he grabbed up his fallen blanket from the floor and held it between him and the man on his table.

" 'm name's Nick. Seeing as you had five different state IDs in your wallet and each with a different name, I'm not wholly sure what to call you."

"Sam," the man said after a cautious pause. "My name's Sam."


	3. Chapter 3

"Sam from California." Nick nodded, not wholly believing that one because good god, but the identification in this man's wallet had been like opening up a sampler box of chocolate. Most suspiciously of all, some of the cards had been federal identification. But if this man here worked for the National Transportation Safety Board, as well as the Enid county sheriff's department then Nick would turn in his medical license and and take up professional unicycling.

Nick pulled his blanket around himself like armor, sizing up the mountain of a man sitting there on his table. "Can I fix your arm without you demonstrating your mean right hook again? I'm kind of fond of my face."

Confused, the man who called himself Sam looked down at his arm, seemingly surprised by the hole left behind from the tube that he'd pulled out. "Oh god." And he pressed a hand to the bleeding like the pressure was going to somehow do all the good in the world.

Nick still had his small stock pile of pilfered supplies resting on one of the kitchen chairs and he quickly set to work, though he kept a cautious eye on Sam. Gauze and a thin pressure bandage were applied in easy mechanical moments. Nick had done this part of triage so many times over that he was fairly certain that he could do it in his sleep.

Oh sleep.

How he missed sleep.

And with 'mister hiding from the cops' awake and somewhat lucid, sleep for Nick was probably not going to be forthcoming any time soon.

"You really were giving me a blood transfusion… weren't you?"

Nick looked up at the brunet, and felt a little surprised at the odd, almost tender look in the other man's eyes. "You didn't exactly give me a whole lot of choices, big boy."

"I…?" Such a confused frown.

"Got in my car. Put a gun to my head. Passed out from blood loss. Ruined the upholstery… ringing any bells?"

And instead of saying sorry- or even thank you, like a normal person really should in this kind of situation- because after all, Nick had sort of saved this man's life- Sam just frowned. "You keep bags of blood in your house?"

Nick gritted his teeth. "No. I stole a bag of O-negative and a trauma kit from work to patch your sorry criminal ass up." He wasn't particularly proud of what he'd done… but to be perfectly honest, tonight wasn't exactly the first time that he'd taken a few things home from work that weren't precisely his own. Also, it's not like he was worried that this man was going to turn him in to hospital security. Seeing as he'd recently been shot by the police and all. It didn't really put Sam in a place to cast moral stones at anyone.

"Oh." Came the almost sheepish reply. The implications of the whole situation seeming to finally come into focus for him. "Oh… thanks, man."

"Yeah well, don't take it personal. I don't like you or anything. I would have been just as happy dumping your ass on the curb and letting you die- but your blood was in my car, and how would that look for me later when the police come around asking questions?" Exhausted from all this standing and talking and not sleeping, Nick sunk back down in his new favorite chair. Honestly, the whole 'do no harm' oath that he took out of med school had a lot more to do with taking in this man than anything else.

Nick just had the bad habit of taking in stray animals and injured birds.

And what was this on his table except for a concerningly large stray?

Sam was watching him with a truly baffled expression, like he was rather unaccustomed to being taking care of. "You… you could have just taken me to the hospital."

"Really?" Nick's smile felt tight and insanely insincere. "Could I? Could I _really_?"

There was that sheepish expression again. Sam hiding his eyes behind the fringe of his hair, almost coy in the oddly easy movement. "Sorry."

"You sure do apologise a lot for such a large, criminal sort of man."

"I… thank you for your help, and for not calling the police." He said in an awkward kind of way as he swung his legs down from the table and tried to stand.

If only Nick hadn't been suddenly graced with such a nice view of the back of Sam- smears of dried blood from where Nick had patted him over back in the car looking for an exit wound, and just so so much lean muscle... It was like looking at an anatomy book, or a greek statue. Not so surprisingly just as well sculpted as the front of the man had been, but oddly distracting to Nick who hadn't been expecting to be faced with such a nice ass in those blue jeans- and he sort of forgot for a moment to warn this man about the damage that the bullet had done.

Sam went down like a sack of bricks.

Nick actually felt the floor boards under his feet shake. Leaning sideways in his chair, he peered under the table, no sympathy in him at this point (he'd exhausted all humanity and kindness in actually taking this man home and helping him). "The bullet lodged in your hip. You were shot at a downward angle and it tore the hip flexor muscle going in and then I had to cut it a bit to get the bullet back out. You're not going to be able to walk for… for a while."

It actually hurt Nick to say that.

Because what the hell was he going to do with this man while he convalesced? It's not like he could just kick him out. Blood in the car and everything. Nick had aided and abetted his way into being an accomplice to whatever Sam had done that was worth shooting him over.

This whole situation definitely had the feel of a singular bad plan rapidly snowballing into a complete irrevocable mess.

Sam was picking himself up off the floor, leaning heavily on the table as the muscles in his arms did interesting things in their effort to hold himself up.

Nick did not offer to help immediately… for reasons.

Mostly aesthetic reasons.

And then some reasons that didn't include the most honorable of intentions.

Sleep deprivation did funny things to men with repressed sexual urges.

But Nick was an adult, sentient and almost responsible, and not at all an animal, nor completely heartless.

So he got to his feet and came over to the struggling man and helped him into one of the chairs. "Come on, big boy. You're going to hurt yourself rolling around on the floor like that."

"It wasn't intentional." Sam promised as he audibly ground his teeth, so pale again and now trembling.

"You want something for the pain?"

"No." And Sam showed in one word that he was one of those difficult kind of people that Nick always kind of hated treating. "I'm fine."

Which actually made Nick laugh. Just kind of a manic chuckle as he slipped a hand up to the man's throat to check his pulse and Sam grew so still under his touch. Nick hardly noticed as he silently counted beats along with the ticking of the clock. So many years in a hospital and he'd sort of forgotten that touching wasn't always ok without permission. Which was also a bit funny on it's own considering how much Sam grabbing him earlier had freaked him the hell out. This was different though. Nick was fully awake now and he was in his medic mode.

All clinical.

Right up until Sam cleared his throat softly. "What are you doing?"

"Taking your… pulse." Nick looked away from the clock and down at the man sitting at his side. His fingers suddenly felt big and clumsy as they slid away from Sam's throat, a line of sweat making his fingers slick.

And then he re-remembered that he was still mostly naked at this point.

"I'm going to go get dressed." He rubbed his hand against the leg of his boxers and left the room at a measured pace, refusing to show any urgency. "No walking around." He reminded over his shoulder before retreating down the safety of the hallway, breaking the line of sight between the two of them.

Once he felt safe, Nick collapsed against the wall, catching his breath for a moment and lining his thought back up towards lawful neutral. More 'doctor' kinds of thoughts and less 'he has really strong looking hands'' kinds of thoughts. Those secondary thoughts would not help him get through this next part.

Nick came back to the dining room wearing jeans and a tshirt and feeling 100% more secure. He offered a hooded sweatshirt to Sam, who had surprised him by actually staying in his chair like he'd been told to. He had however peeled off the gauze over his side and hip and was looking at the swollen and bruised area around his new lovely stitches.

"It doesn't look too bad." Sam said softly, still gritting his teeth.

Nick set the sweatshirt on the table and made his way to the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder again because it was easier than making eye contact with this man. "I'm just very good at what I do. You've got twelve dissolvable stitches inside of you and only four on the outside. You're not going to be able to put weight on that leg for at least a week, maybe two. Not until the muscle has had a chance to knit back together." Doctor's orders as he rummaged around in the back of the fridge.

"I can't be off my feet for two weeks."

"Well you should have thought about that before pissing off our deputy." This was a small town outside of San Angelo Texas and they were a little limited on how many deputies they had on hand to shoot this man. Unless of course Sam had managed to pull in some officers from San Angelo proper to open fire on him.

But Nick didn't want details. What he wanted was plausible deniability.

"Deputy?" Sam's pain tight voice sounded a little overly worried. "What about the deputy?"

"You talk in your sleep."

Silence came from the dining room.

"Nothing incriminating. Don't worry your pretty little head." Nick found himself speaking oddly comforting words, and it disturbed him. This was not him. He had no bedside manner.

God, but he needed to sleep.

"Was it Meeks or Grant that shot you?" He couldn't stop himself from asking as he set down the chilled glass vial that he'd grabbed from the fridge.

Sam seemed to be in enough pain to not notice whatever the sleepy, blonde doctor was up to. Just sitting there and taking very clean breaths and sweating as he worked through the pain.

"I bet it was Meeks." Nick found and unwrapped a clean needle and filled a syringe from the little bottle. "That woman has no sense of humor." Just rambling kind of small talk to keep the man sitting here from noticing that he was giving him a shot.

The muscles in Sam's arm twitched like an animal flinching an annoying insect away. And then he blinked those oddly colored eyes and looked up at Nick. "What did you just give me?"

"Drugs."

"I don't need… oh." Sam swayed, eyes drifting half closed.

"Morphine." Nick set the syringe aside. "I gave you morphine. Now put a shirt on and I'll help you to the couch."

"I… can't stay on your couch." The young man's words were slow and carefully chosen as he blinked and struggled to keep the world in focus.

"Well you don't really have much of a choice." Nick held out the sweater very pointedly.

"I'm in the middle of something." The young man waved vaguely towards the front door. "I'm on a time frame and I can't… what are you doing?"

Catching one broadly gesturing arm, Nick had started working the sweater sleeves up towards Sam's elbows, helping him dress. "What does it look like I'm doing? Look, I know you have now been shot and drugged and probably aren't at the top of your game tonight, but this isn't rocket science here."

Slowly giving in and actually helping dress himself, Sam took the sweater from Nick and pulled it around his shoulders, fumbling with the zipper. "I went to Stanford."

"Neat."

"You're talking to me like I'm stupid." For Sam the struggle was real- and that zipper was remaining unzipped come hell or high water. "I'm not. I went to Stanford."

"And you got yourself shot by the police for doing god knows what, and now you are losing the fight to a sweatshirt."

Sam's hands grew still, those big strong looking hands, as he looked up at Nick with eyes narrow and accusing. "You drugged me."

"Yeah and reiterating that whole you were shot part of tonight, you're welcome."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are, big boy." Nick hated arguing with people who had more damage to their bodies than sense. "Why don't you just take your fine self and walk on out of here so I can get some sleep then."

Sam kept up that perfect frown of his. "Do you have crutches."

With a rattling breath, Nick ran his hands through his hair. "Fucking. Hell." Did they really make people this stubborn? "Do I look like I have crutches? No. I don't have crutches. What I do have is a medical license though. So you are going to listen to doctor's orders. Keep off your leg. Get some rest. And for the love of all that is good, you're going to do it fully dressed, or so help me." He roughly grabbed the little zipper fob and in one easy movement closed and secured the damn sweatshirt.

Something in Sam seemed to soften just a little, the slump of his shoulders belying a certain level of surrender. "I really do have things that I need to be doing."

"Yeah? Would you like me to call up the police for you- see if one of the officers is free to maybe give you a ride to wherever it is that you need to get to so desperately?"

It was a bit of a bluff.

Nick would only get himself in trouble if he called the police at this point.

It was probably also stupid to threaten this man here, even if he was a little off kilter and slowed down from the drugs.

It worked though, so Nick would be giving himself a point for his own recklessness.

Sam sighed.

Sighed and closed his eyes and let himself go a bit boneless and limp. "Is it a nice couch?"


	4. Chapter 4

The amount of sleep achieved by the time the alarm clock started going off was not even remotely fulfilling. Not that it mattered one bit. Nick still had to get up and go to work. He dragged himself out of his comfortable, warm bed, and into the shower. It was only when he wandered through the dining room on his way to the kitchen to make some breakfast that he noticed something was amiss.

And then last night came back to him.

The sleeplessness, and the criminal involvement, the reason why there were still bloody paper towels on his table.

He made coffee and took a full mug and a pack of cigarettes out to the back porch.

It was a little after 10am, he had an hour until he needed to be at work. Which gave him plenty of time to stare at his poorly kept back lawn while letting an unsmoked cigarette burn out between his fingers as he became overwhelmed by the bad choices that he'd made last night.

Not that his actions were permanent.

He could still opt out of all of this- but not without repercussions. And he had suspicions that things would be a bit worse for him than just a little slap on the wrists.

He snuffed out the cigarette and focused on his coffee.

Coffee would save him.

Coffee made things better.

Or at very least didn't make things worse.

Nick went back inside, because he had to, not because he wanted to.

He made a second cup of coffee and some toast and brought them to the sleeping mess on his couch. Right where he'd left it.

Goodie.

"Rise and shine, princess." Nick sang softly as he set the meager breakfast down on the coffee table. Sure, it was a most likely a bad idea to antagonise the criminal with the big strong arms and all the scary scars- however, Nick was nothing but antagonistic in the face of abject fear.

Sam stirred beneath his blankets, blinking sleepily at Nick as he came awake and sorted out where he was and just what the hell was going on. " 'morning." He muttered in a sleep rough voice as he awkwardly pushed himself up to his elbows.

"Eat." Nick nodded towards the toast. "Then I'll help you to the bathroom. You need a shower."

"I… I don't need help taking a shower." He did take the toast though. Obviously hungry.

"Didn't say that. I said I was going to help you to the bathroom. I'm a doctor, not a nurse. You can clean your own damn self off. But you _will_ get clean, because I'm leaving you in the bedroom while I go to work and you're not sleeping in my bed like that." Nick gestured to the disarray of the man on the couch.

The last bite of toast vanished into Sam's mouth. "I can stay here on the couch."

"It's too far of a stumble for you to get from here to the bathroom on your own without hurting yourself. I work a twelve hour shift and you're going to have to pee at some point while I'm gone. So you're going to the bedroom. But we're getting the blood and sweat off of you first."

Sam looked like he wanted to argue. Sam looked like he would be really good at arguing.

But he just layed there on the couch, head tilted so he could look up at Nick. And it was an odd look.

A very odd, very long look.

"Yeah, alright." Just like that, Sam agreed.

He could have argued.

Probably should have argued.

But Sam agreed.

And Nick helped him up off the couch, getting one of his shoulders under the younger man's and kind of serving as a crutch as they made their three legged way down the hall.

"You know, this is a hell of a lot easier than getting you out of the car was."

Sam kept one hand on the wall as they walked, the other arm looped comfortably around Nick's shoulders. The close proximity made it a little awkward as Sam turned a little to look honestly curious at the man supporting him. "How _did_ you get me out of your car?"

Sam was actually heavier than he looked, and for a man who had to be well over six foot tall, that was really saying something.

"I dragged you." Nick managed to keep the smile he felt from his face. "I dragged you like a man dragging a corpse out to an empty field."

Sam just nodded like he understood perfectly.

Which should have been a bit unnerving to Nick.

But then he would have had to have a stronger sense of self preservation. And he did not.

Instead he walked Sam through his bedroom to the little attached bath. Sure there was a bathroom in the hall, but it had a tub and there was no way that the injured man would have been able to step into it. Besides, this arrangement would put Sam about six feet away from a bathroom should he need it while NIck was at work- with a nice sturdy wall all the way from the side of the bed to the bathroom no less.

It wasn't great.

Great would have been kicking the guy out of the car last night when he passed out.

This was the second best option.

Given the circumstances, Nick was willing to settle for second best.

"Here we are. You know what to do. I'll go get you something for the pain."

Sam steadied himself against the door frame of the little bathroom, balancing on one foot with his injured leg half bent and just kind of dangling useless. "I don't need pain killers."

"Hey, I can see that you're a big tough guy and all, but the longer you stand like that the worse it's going to feel. Having the option of something later'll be real nice. I'm not saying you have to take it. Just… you know. In case you want them."

"I'm fine." Sam insisted. Though, if he was fine then there wouldn't be that tightness in his jaw or the edges of his mouth as he struggled to play it cool despite the obvious pain he must have been in.

Nick sighed, wanting out of this as gently as possible. "How about I don't want to stand here watching while you make use of the facilities. It's really not my thing." Nick bit off the rest of what he wanted to say- realizing even before the words left him that offering to come back when Sam was in the shower to help him get at those hard to reach spots would really not help this situation.

Instead he went to find a change of clothes that might fit the giant man, as well as a bottle of probably not expired painkillers left over from when Nick had two wisdom teeth taken out last spring. Sure he had the morphine in the fridge- but he needed that for later. It would be a shame to waste it on the large criminal in the other room.

The water turned on in the far side of the house and Nick startled.

"Hey, don't get in the shower yet!" He yelled down the hall as he quickly gathered a few things from the kitchen. "You can't get your stitches wet."

By the time he jogged down the hall Sam had managed to do practically everything other than get into the shower. He'd shed his clothes and shoes, leaving his jeans and Nick's sweater in the neat pile on the floor. The shower door was open, pleasant steam billowing out. And there Sam stood, awkwardly on one foot, one whole arm already under the stream of water as he balanced himself against the inner wall of the shower.

"How am I supposed to take a shower without getting my side wet?" He wanted to know.

It really was a good question.

It just took Nick's mouth and brain a little longer than it should have to get on the same page and remember how to make words.

Because good god.

Nude was one thing.

Natural and easy and whatever. Not a big deal.

Especially not from a medical worker's standpoint.

And then there was Sam.

Nick held up the roll of plastic wrap and duct tape, waggling them in way of explanation on account of not trusting himself to speak. All the things that he could think of to say were very decidedly un-doctor like and best left unsaid.

It took a little longer than usual for Nick to slip into that detached, quiet, medical side of his mind- but damn it all, he still got there. And upon arrival to that calm and boring place he managed to carefully tape a protective barrier over the gauze he'd put in place the night before.

"It's not like the water would kill you, but wet injuries can become infected." Nick rattled off as he smoothed the last piece of tape down over the slat of Sam's hip. Unimportant information, because that is what you are supposed to offer up during benign procedures like this. They were nice and distracting.

In times like this distractions were welcome.

"There you go, big boy." Nick was so proud of himself for managing not to pat the man's hip as he stepped back.

Sam was looking down at himself… at that lovely lenght of himself that was all so nicely sculpted and so noticeably naked. He picked at the edge of the shiny silver tape. "What kind of doctor are you again?"

"ER. So a bit of everything." Nick made himself turn back to his bedroom, leaving the door between them open, but pointedly not looking. That man in there was built like the kind of man who didn't take kindly to lingering looks from other men. "I specialise in blunt force trauma. Broken bones. Fights. Horse kicks. A bunch of wives and kids who 'fall down stairs a lot'. That kind of thing." He made the bed, even if it was counter productive. "Though, this is Texas. So I've pulled out my fair share of bullets from drunk hunting trips or disputes with neighbors."

Wow.

He was actually rambling.

Nick hadn't rambled in years.

Was he nervous?

The shower turned off.

Hell. He was nervous.

This was stupid.

"Clean clothes." Nick said maybe a little too loudly as he set a tshirt and some sweats on the bathroom counter. "I'll leave you some food on the side table next to the bed. I've got to get to work."

Sam popped his head out from under the towel he was using to dry his hair. The smile he gave was a little strained, but it was still there. "Thanks, man."

 _Man_

Yeah.

Ok.

These were not the speech patterns of the kind of person that you get nervous about.

"I'll put some pills out with the food. You can have one every four hours." Nick nodded, more to himself than anything else. "I'll be back around midnight… please don't burn my house down or anything while I'm gone. Alright?"

Sam smiled a little more.

He was better at smiling than he had been at frowning. And Sam was really, really good at frowning.

"I'll do my best."

"You're best isn't good enough. I want a completely fire free home when I get back."

Sam had dimples as he grinned. "Yes, sir."

It was possible that Nick had never left his house as quickly before.

Maybe he did have enough sense of self preservation after all.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a five car pile up that night- and five cars could hold an awful lot of people. The ER was something of a blur or broken bones, crying, and blood. Nick almost hugged the shift that came in to relieve him. But his scrubs had an awful lot of bodily fluids on them, and sharing was not how you show appreciation to your fellow doctors.

Instead, he simply dragged himself home- and considering that he'd only had about four hours of sleep all together between this and his previous twelve hour shift- it was fairly remarkable that he managed that much at all.

The adrenaline of his work day had worn off about half way home and he could barely keep his eyes open, much less focus on more important things than not wrapping his car around a tree, or dumping his dirty scrubs into the laundry hamper in the garage before staggering like a drunk down the hall to his room.

He didn't even bother with the light. He didn't need to see anything. He knew where his bed was.

Practically throwing himself face down onto the blankets, Nick was almost asleep in seconds. Would have been asleep if it weren't for the way that the mattress beside him dipped under an unexpected weight.

It wasn't that Nick was particularly forgetful. He liked to think of himself as a fairly intelligent man.

But he was also a tired man.

So very tired.

Sleepily, he reached over to pat the cat.

But what his fingers touched didn't feel anything at all like a cat.

Then Nick remembered that he didn't own a cat.

That he had never owned a cat.

And that the reason what was under his hand felt an awful lot like someone's arm was probably because it _was_ someone's arm.

Which made it very awkward that he was still petting.

"Yeah?" Sam sounded just as tired as Nick felt.

Clumsily, he found the other man's wrist, fitting his fingers along the soft underside. "Checking your pulse." He mumbled into his pillow, hoping that he he wouldn't seem like a crazy man who likes to pet people.

Sam didn't pull his arm away… but maybe he was just too tired too. "Is that necessary?"

Nick was committed to it now though and determinedly he counted the beats. "Well, you were shot and had a transfusion… it's good to check in on things."

Silence settled in between them on the bed.

Not an unfamiliar companion to either of them it seemed.

Satisfied that he'd ridden out the awkwardness of petting a relative stranger, Nick tucked his arm back against his own side. It was then that he was forced to confront the fact that he was once more just in his boxers, and that this was not exactly a good habit for him to have as long as he had company over.

Getting back out of bed to find some pants would only make it obvious how he was not wearing any now. So stubbornly he stayed right there. It _was_ his bed after all.

Sam shifted, scooting to give a bit more room between them. "What's the verdict, doc?"

Yawning, Nick turned his head to catch a glimpse of the man beside him in the dark room. It was nothing more than just a suggestion of another human, and even that much was surreal seeing as there hadn't been anyone on that side of the bed in years.

"Well, you're not dead."

The softest chuckle came from a few inches away. "That's your expert opinion?"

Despite the exhaustion, Nick felt himself smile. "You want me to call in a specialist?"

"No, I guess I'll just have to trust you."

They were joking around- which for the record, was not something that Nick ever planned on doing with this man. Fingers crossed that this was as far from his comfort zone that he would be going. Or at least he'd cross his fingers if he wasn't too tired.

"Good." He yawned again. "Trust is key in the doctor patient relationship."

"I wasn't planning on staying long enough to need to develop a relationship." Sam confided with a bit of a yawn of his own.

"Ah, but doctor patient stuff is different. It's instant. I trust you not to kill me, and you trust me not to call the police. Like that, we are established."

Sam grew quiet once more.

Not the most comfortable kind of quiet.

Nick could have let it go and used that pause to find sleep. But he didn't. Because that would have been the smart thing to do.

"You aren't planning to kill me… right, Sam?" A little clarification would be nice.

"No." Sam said thoughtfully. "Not tonight."

That level of clarification was a bit too much though.

"I'm going to assume that was a joke- and if not, then just let my untimely murder come as a surprise at some point in the future."

Sam made an agreeable sound.

"I like surprises." Nick burrowed his face into the pillow, settling in and feeling unduly safe laying here beside a criminal.

"I'll keep that in mind… are you sleeping in here?"

And it was nice to know that Sam wasn't completely unflappable.

"It's my bed."

With a soft and long sigh Sam shifted again. "That _is_ fair… good night... I guess."

Nick grunted his agreement, because yes please. Good night.

Good night.

The morning was… less good however.

Sam was shaking him, very roughly- which was an upsetting and unfamiliar way to wake up, especially on a day when he didn't have work and hadn't set an alarm.

"What?"

A hand slid over his mouth, clamping down tight and Sam's mouth must have been right next to Nick's ear because the other man's breath was warm against his skin.

"There's someone in your house." He whispered- and this close the words tickled down Nick's spine and settled somewhere low and warm.

Only, the words themselves were oddly disturbing.

He blinked, looking around, trying to get his bearings in the half light coming through his drawn curtains.

It was morning, and there was indeed a bit of a noise coming from the other side of the house.

And that wasn't normal.

Not normally normal at least.

He gently pried Sam's hand away from his mouth. "Is today Thursday?" He asked in a hushed voice, turning his head and trying not to jump when his nose brushed against Sam's.

Too close.

Way too close.

"I-I don't know." And the guy honestly looked baffled at the question. "What happens on Thursday?"

Nick had completely forgotten about Thursdays. He had a lot more pressing matters in his life currently to remember standing appointments.

The short answer to Sam's question was 'brace yourself'- but there wasn't time to get that warning in before the bedroom door was flung open.

Nick's younger brother Gabriel stood there, with his customary bottle of orange juice and box of store bought muffins in hand. Ready to merrily disrupt Nick's day off, as he typically did once or twice a month. He wasn't a tall man, or all that intimidating to be fair- but the look on his face, the confusion, then shock, then horror was all fairly damning to Nick.

"Fuck." Nick struggled to untangle himself from the sheets. "Fucking, Gabriel. Why don't you ever knock?"

"Y-you gave me a key." Gabriel was watching the second and unfamiliar man with a singular fixation.

Nick finally freed himself and got to his feet, catching his brother by the shoulders and leading him out to the hall.

"Whoa, hey, you're not going to introduce me to your _friend_?" Gabriel looked up at him with the biggest, rounded eyes.

"No." Nick closed the bedroom door behind them, hiding away Sam.

"I think if a man is pounding my brother in the ass then I should get to at least know his name."

It was too early for this. "No. You don't need to know his name- wait, why do you just assume that I'm the bottom?"

Gabriel gave him one of those inscrutable looks of his. The kind that said that he was willing to believe any evil or indiscretion on his big brother's behalf.

"Look, I'm not having sex with the guy."

"Right, he's just a friend who's staying over and likes to sleep really close. And I'm the queen of Spain."

"I'm not gay." Which was not the complete truth- but even if it was, Nick had never had all that many qualms about lying to his brother.

Gabriel was watching him, trying to puzzle things out. To find the lie and the place in the universe where things had gotten wrong and confusing and gay.

Nick kept his strong hold on his brother and lead him towards the kitchen, which unfortunately put them in full view of the bloody paper towels and medical supplies strewn about that he'd planned on cleaning up later today.

"Fuck." Was all Nick could manage as he released his brother and hastily started collecting all his incriminating evidence.

The muffins were set on a clean edge of the table as Gabriel's expression went from disturbed to mildly concerned. "Oh, Nick… I ...wow. I don't see any of this do I?"

"No one would believe you anyways." It was his only comfort.

Gabriel sank into his regular chair and just sighed. "I liked it better when you were taking it up the ass. Disturbing yes, but I could learn to still love you for who you are- this though..." he nodded to his brother's collection of suspicious collection of medical supplies. "This is just wrong and you know it."

" 'm not gay." Nick insisted as he took his evidence out to the garage and came back through the kitchen, collecting three cups and setting them down.

"Can we say that you are though- because I don't want to be an accomplice to whatever malpractice thing you've got going on here." He poured two of the glasses full of orange juice before looking suspiciously at the last one, then filling it too.

"Yeah- you don't want to be an accomplice." Nick drawled out sarcastically as he went back to the kitchen and returned with the small vial of morphine, setting it in the muffin box.

Gabriel grinned one of his toothy and worrisome grins. "Hey, this is different. This is for a good cause." He tapped the muffin box. "Whatever extra curriculars you've got going on with that handsome young man back in your bed though? That's for fun. And you don't know how to have fun. So you can understand my suspicions."

"Fun?"

"I'm determined to accept you as gay before I accept the idea that you're doing medical procedures in your home. Because you aren't that stupid."

Nick held on to his glass of orange juice, but didn't taste any of it.

"So, just for piece of mind, I am going to tell you what this all looks like to me, you are going to glare at me like you're so good at doing, and I will take your angry silence as acknowledgment that I figured it out- because I'm the smart brother too."

Nick… really just hated these Thursday visits.

"So, hear me out, because I've totally got this one figured. You, one late night after work saw this handsome young buck out in the parking lot. It's late, he's hurt… probably from some farm equipment- oh! no, he's in the amature rodeo and he got thrown off of a bull. But he didn't have health insurance, and was reluctant to go in. So you, with your bleeding heart, offer to take him home and see to his boo-boos in exchange for some hot dude on dude action."

Now, on a normal day, and with just about anyone other than his brother, Nick would be punching someone in the nose right about now. The allegation was sleazy at best.

But then again… it was marginally better than the truth.

Certainly slightly more legal than harboring a criminal fugitive.

So Nick said nothing and drank his oj, letting his brother assume all he wanted.

They ate their muffins together. Gabriel talked. Gabriel always talked. And Nick just nodded from time to time- as was his habit on these early morning visits.

The two brothers were both fairly nocturnal, though different flavors.

Where as Nick would have prefered to sleep for a few more hours, Gabriel on the other hand would still be wound too tight to go to bed until noon or so. So while the younger brother was still going strong, Nick only wanted to go back to bed.

"The drive out here was hell."

"Always is." Nick stifled a yawn and wondered if he would be allowed to just put his head down on the table.

"You are at least four hours from any decent kind of fun. Why don't you come back to the city?"

"I like it here."

If Gabriel rolled his eyes any harder he would probably detatch something. "You don't like anything."

"I like blueberry muffins."

"Which is why I always bring you lemon poppy seed."

Grumbling, Nick poked an aggressive hole into his muffin with a finger. Stupid lemon flavor. Every damn time.

"If you can manage to pull yourself away from your boy-toy for a few hours, do you want to come with me to go see Dad and Mike?" Gabriel was offering the same thing he offered every visit.

"I would rather be the love toy of a Roman army battalion." Nick countered back, same as he did every visit.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"Look, I got you the pain killers for dad. I don't want to be any more involved than that." He didn't even want to be that involved in the first place. Dad had stage three cancer and seemed to think that praying the illness away would be more effective than chemo. It was not. But the pain medicine that Nick smuggled out of the hospital helped.

Or at least that's the rumor that trickled back down to him.

It was the closest he was willing to get to trying to play a good son.

Gabriel was watching him over his muffin crumbs. "You know that they ask about you."

"No they don't."

"No…" Gabriel sighed. "They don't. But they would be happy to see you."

"No they wouldn't."

His younger brother managed to look disappointed for the whole of three seconds before shrugging ito off. Just like he always did.

Nick had begun to suspect that the offer was only there as pretense and that Gabriel would actually have no idea what to do if he agreed to go with him. It was a familiar give and take though. They'd been doing it for years.

And Nick liked familiar.

"So… uh, should I leave a muffin for tall, dark, and in your bed?" Gabriel waggled his eyebrows just enough to hint at something lecherous. "Or do you have other plans for him?"

The implications were- well, they were still better than the truth. So he let it go. It didn't really matter what his brother thought anyways.

At least…

At least he really didn't want it to matter what his brother though.

"Make it two muffins." Nick sighed. "He's a big boy."


	6. Chapter 6

Instead of sleeping, Sam was reading. This fact confused Nick rather badly. He stood in the doorway to his room with muffins and juice and a no idea what was going on.

"Where the hell did you get a book from?"

Sam's expression turned sheepish. "The livingroom."

"When…?"

"When you went to work yesterday." He rested the medical text against his knees, eyeing the food with interest.

Sometimes that doctor patient relationship could get really frustrating. "What don't you understand about keeping off your leg while it heals?"

That sheepish look again and he made an effort to half hide the book on his far side where Nick couldn't directly see it and get angry at him. "I'm not good at just laying around."

Annoyed, Nick set the food down on the bedside table. "Do you have any idea how painful it's going to be to repair your stitches when you pull them out?"

"Well, if I had to guess I would say probably not quite as bad as getting shot in the first place." The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Nick was so proud of the restraint he showed by not threatening to tie this man to the bed for his own safety.

Purely for safety... of course.

But Sam might not see it that way and it would be a real shame to give him the wrong idea of Nick's intentions towards him.

A real shame.

"Smart ass. Eat your breakfast and stay in bed. I'm going to get a shower."

Shower he did. And Sam, good Sam, was still in bed when Nick got back.

Hair dripping a bit, and holding a towel around his hips, he moseyed over to his dresser, looking for clothes for the day. Much like at night, these mostly undressed habits of his stemmed from living alone for many years. It was throwing him off having someone else in his house.

Though, it seemed to be throwing Sam off as well.

If that was any consolation.

He was watching Nick with that same strange expression that he did from time to time.

"I don't usually take my clothes with me to the shower… I just get dressed out here…" Nick mumbled almost like an apology as he grabbed up some jeans and a shirt and returned to the bathroom to cover himself a bit more efficiently.

It's not that he was shy so much as the way that Sam watched him was a bit unnerving. It wasn't an expression that was easily identified- and Nick had never been all that great in reading other people to begin with.

"So," he tried for casual as he dressed behind the mostly closed door between them. "Do you have a partner or… next of kin or someone that we should be contacting?"

"Partner?"

"Someone to drive the getaway car?" Nick pulled his shirt on and came back out. "A partner in crime kind of person?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably for a moment before settling back into that oddly unreadable expression. "No. I'm out here on my own."

Which Nick didn't actually believe at all, and in fact had his theories that Sam's partner had already been picked up by the police. "No friend named 'Dean' that's going to be missing you?"

Sam's dark crash of dark hair spilling into his eyes did not quite hide the startled expression.

"You were talking in your sleep the first night." Nick shrugged, doing his best to keep his amusement from his face. It didn't seem like a good plan to express how happy he was to have caught Sam off guard. "A lot of mumbling about someone named Dean, and the deputy."

Defensive.

The young man on the bed looked nothing if not defensive.

"Hey, I don't want details." Nick raised his hands in an innocent sort of gesture. "The less I know the better, as far as I'm concerned. I'm just wondering if someone is out there looking for you- and if I should be worried about that."

After some odd hesitation, Sam shook his head. "Dean, my brother… he's doing a job out in Miami."

 _Doing a job?_

Was there a more suspicious sounding way to say that? Probably not.

Nick wasn't going to ask for clarification. He was still craving whatever plausible deniability that he could cling to should the police ever come to check in on him.

"So no one breaking down my doors, or filing a missing person report on you?"

More awkward shifting as Sam seemed to be wrestling with his answer. "Not for a week or so."

"Fair enough." Nick nodded, hoping that a week would be enough to get this man healed up and out of his house before a second criminal sort came and found him. "It's my day off… I was going to go grocery shopping- maybe swing by the library. Anything you want?"

Nick was not used to having house guests.

He was not good at it.

Nothing about this felt natural.

But Sam smiled at him, the unease forgotten as he rattled off a shopping list like he'd just been waiting for the moment that someone would ask.

"You want me to get you the local paper from the past three days?" Nick repeated the last item on the list. Baffled.

"I need to see if I missed anything while I was here."

"The cliff notes version?" Nick laughed, "The sun came up. Some babies were born. Some people died. Same old, same old…" a thought occurred to him. "Are you hoping for news about yourself?"

Slowly, Sam shook his head. "There won't be anything about me."

"You did something worth getting shot by the police." Nick didn't hesitate to point out.

"I-" with a frown, Sam shook his head again. "Please just bring me the papers?"

Nick's life would be much easier if he were better at saying no.

As it was, he spent almost two hours hunting down slightly out of date newspapers for a criminal sort of man who hogged the blankets at night.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Nick ended up sitting in his drive way, eggs and milk in the back seat getting warm as he leafed through the disarray of newspapers that were spread over his dash. One hand held a mostly ignored cigarette out the open driver's window, while his other hand turned the pages. Looking for anything at all that might be interesting enough for Sam to be looking.

There were estate sales, obituaries, gardening tips, sports stats for college and state teams. But honest, the most interesting thing that Nick found was that a new Menchies had opened up in San Angelo, and he would have to take his brother next time he came through town. Gabriel was the sort of man to lose it over a frozen yogurt- even if Nick didn't see the appeal.

He stubbed his cigarette into the car's ashtray and collected up his papers and food, carrying the armful rather awkwardly. He almost dropped the lot too as he pushed the front door open and was started by the sight of Sam shambling awkwardly back down the hall towards the bedroom.

"You are the worst." Nick called after the taller man. "The actual worst." He kicked the door closed. "Worst patient I've ever had- and I've had someone projectile vomit onto me before."

"That's disgusting." Sam called over his shoulder, kind of hesitating in the hall to look back at Nick.

"I also had a woman very high on very many drugs who removed two small rocks from her vagina and throw them at me-"

Sam's laughter was both startled and somewhat horrified.

"And you're still the worst." Nick narrowed his eyes and took his groceries to the kitchen. "I'm making lunch and you better be in bed by the time I get down there. Or else."

"Or else what?"

"I get to eat all the food, all by myself. While reading all the newspapers and all the books. And you get nothing."

"Nothing?" Sam popped his head into the kitchen- which was oddly the opposite direction of the bedroom.

" _Nothing_. I swear to god." Nick started to roll up the newspapers, shaking them at Sam like a club. "Now hobble your sorry ass back to bed."

"It doesn't hurt that bad."

Nick smacked him in the chest with the collection of outdated news. "Well good for you and your high pain tolerance. But if I have to, I _will_ drag you back to bed, and I will do whatever is necessary to make sure that you stay there."

"Whatever is necessary?" Sam sounded intrigued as he took the papers.

"Don't tempt me." And Nick was struggling to keep his calm demeanor. It shouldn't be so difficult, but then again, there also shouldn't be a broad shouldered man with dimples just standing beside him in his kitchen, wearing sweats and a shirt that fit a little too snugly across those aforementioned broad shoulders.

Those damn dimples shadowed Sam's cheeks as he ducked his head, tucking the papers under an arm. "Wasn't too much trouble to find them?"

"Far too much trouble considering how much I still don't like you." It was a very real struggle. "Seriously though. Bed. You will tear your stitches and you're wearing my clothes. I don't like getting blood on non-work clothes."

"Alright. Alright." He was still grinning. The bastard. "Thank you."

Nick gave up and simply shouldered in beside Sam, sliding an arm around his ribs and taking some of the other man's weight. It was very suddenly obvious that he'd only been upright to begin with because he'd been using the counter to hold himself up.

"Has anyone ever told you how frustrating you are?"

Sam was leaning on him with surprising gratitude, looking so much more tired and hurt from this close up. "Once or twice." But he was still smiling.

And Nick couldn't help but smile back.


	7. Chapter 7

Nick wasn't used to eating in bed.

That said, he also wasn't used to bringing food to someone in his bed, and then leaving them to go eat alone in the other room at the table.

So, odd as it was, in the name of hospitality, Nick sat on the edge of his bed and ate while a fugitive sat beside him leafing through an old newspaper and picking at some store bought deli sandwiches.

Was this supposed to feel normal?

Probably not.

Not for Nick and not for anyone else.

Not even close to normal.

But oddly pleasant all the same.

He used his phone to reply to a few work related emails while he ate. Then, licking a spot of mustard off his thumb he settled in and bludgeoned his way through a sudoku game that he'd never had much patience for, but was determined to get better at.

"I think that one is a 4." Sam leaned close, breaking the comfortable silence as he pointed to one of the squares.

"I don't remember asking for help." Nick gave him a bit of side eye, but also followed the unsolicited advice.

"You don't need to ask," there was a smile in Sam's voice. "You sort of saved my life. I owe you."

"Don't think that helping me solve a number problem makes us even." He continued poking at the little squares, but his concentration had been broken and there was no more progress to be made. "You owe me big time… big boy."

Sam chuckled, all warm and comfortable and oddly inappropriate due to their location on a bed and proximity to one another. But Nick had been in situations like this often enough to know that the awkwardness was very one sided and best kept to himself.

"I've had worse nicknames- but I've got to say, I don't love that one."

"Look, without me you'd be dead or in jail- so as far as I'm concerned I can call you _Susan_ if I feel like it and you just get to smile and take it."

Sam grinned at that.

And Nick weighed the outcome of either running from the room, or simply crawling into the other man's lap and… and… doing things that were best left vague and not fully thought out because that would only make them all the more tempting.

He settled for option C and started a new game on his phone. He had his doubts that he'd be any more successful in completing this one than he had the last- but it kept him busy. Busy was good.

Sam returned to his rumpled newspapers and left Nick to fumble through his sudoku.

And it's not like he was making any progress filling in the numbers, but at least he was focused on the task at hand. So focused that he actually jumped slightly, startled almost breathless for a moment when his phone rang.

A soft almost involuntary chuckle came from Sam, but he kept his comments to himself as Nick took a nerve settling deep breath and answered the call.

It was the front desk at work.

They knew it was his day off- but Cooper and Bennett were both out with a stomach virus and the ER needed an extra set of hands.

Nick wished that he had something going on in his life, some other plans or obligations that would allow him to comfortably tell them all to fuck off. But instead he got up and pulled a pair of clean scrubs from his dresser.

"You going in to work?" Sam asked the obvious question.

"I get paid time and a half for overtime." With a shrug Nick turned in a slow circle, realizing that he couldn't just get dressed in here with the other man sitting on the bed watching him. So he simply tucked the change of clothes under his arm and shrugged again. "You'll be fine on your own. Stay in bed this time. Seriously. You have a hole in you and pulled stitches are a bitch."

That damned smug smile again. "Yes, Doctor."

Without a word passing his lips, and with an internal monologue consisting only of the word ' _no'-_ Nick left the room.

Left the whole house.

Took his damn self to work and stubbornly did not let his thoughts drift back to the man at home wearing his clothes and lying in his bed.

Whether it was simply a full moon that night, or some incompetent gang violence afoot- there were more than the usual amount of broken and bloody people admitted to the ER that night to keep Nick thoroughly distracted from all thoughts of men named Sam.

At least for a few hours.

Eventually his shift ended. And as tired as he was, slightly detached and blank after the sea of patients, Nick couldn't seem to help but notice a man arguing with the admission nurse. He should have just kept going for the exit. He could have been homefree. But fuck any person who actually had the nerve to rile up their silver haired night nurse. Karen had been at the hospital for almost forty years. She never forgot a birthday, never came in to work late, and was honestly sort of a communal grandmother to most of the staff.

She was a battleship of a woman and was more than capable of calling an orderly to come and remove the scruffy looking man in the leather jacket who was leaning on her desk and speaking low and very insistently.

But Nick would have had a hard time getting himself out to his car, knowing that he'd left some asshat in the waiting room, who seemed very determined to ruin Karen's night.

"We have a problem here?" Nick came over, arms folded, but in a way that made sure that his staff badge was still clearly visible.

The man stopped leaning on the desk enough to turn to Nick- and good god, but he looked oddly familiar.

Nick would swear he'd never seen the man before in his life. Muddy green eyes and close cut hair, jaw strong and in need of a shave. But there was something about the way he looked at Nick that made the back of his neck itch and something in his mind twist and churn as it struggled to figure out where he'd seen this man before.

Karen clicked her nails against her desk, sharp little sounds as she leveled a withering look at the man who'd been arguing with her. "No problem at all, Doctor. I was just explaining to this gentleman that I legally cannot release patient records to him."

"Look, lady. I don't want records. I just want you to let me know if you guys have had a freakishly tall man with sensitive hair in in the last few nights. Injured or dead," the words didn't sound easy for him to say, "I just need to know."

"Unless you can give me a name for this man, a name for yourself, some ID as next of kin, I will not be letting you know anything except where the nearest exit is." Karen was unshakable.

"I-I don't know what name." The dark haired man said in a soft, flat tone. "He would have been a John Doe, or had a fake ID. Look, lady. I'm not asking a lot here. I just want a yes or no."

Nick had a very conflicting feeling welling up inside. A feeling that he gave voice to even when he knew he should just keep quiet. "Any of those fake IDs on him might have read Sam?"

The man turned on him like a storm, eyes bright and shallow breaths coming a little too loud. "Is he alive?"

God, but Nick could find trouble like a pig finds truffles. It was a real and well honed skill.

"He's… yeah. He's fine."

The man visibly sagged against the desk, relief clearly written over his face for a few seconds before he refound his cool and almost blank exterior.

Karen was watching Nick with an inscrutable expression.

He waved her off as gently as he knew how. "Man came into the free clinic a few days ago. We sent him on his way- but he told me that he might have a brother come through looking for him." Lies, lies, lies. But this wasn't anything that Karen needed to get involved in. "With that cleared up, let me see him out. He's given you enough trouble tonight." He nodded to the man with his leather jacket and uncertain expression that he was keeping well controlled.

Nick smiled a smile that he usually kept on reserve for worried parents. It was comforting, and open and well practiced.

Karen knew him well enough to not buy it- but she nodded and went back to her forms all the same.

The man followed close on Nick's heels, warm and sturdy and smelling of gun oil and something unnamable but familiar all the same.

"You care to elaborate, Doc?"

"You care to give me your name, or do I just get to leave you with an orderly?" Nick knew. He knew with an oddly weighted feeling in his stomach just who this man was- but he needed to be sure. He already had one criminal in his life. But it was a known danger, and he would appreciate a little clarity if this man here was going to be the same flavor or something else all together.

Hands in the pockets of his jacket, the man looked up to the clear night sky as they passed the electric doors out into the parking lot. " 'm name's Dean Winchester. I'm looking for my kid brother."

"He's… awful tall to still call a 'kid brother' don't you think?"

A wry smile was given to Nick sideways. "Doesn't matter how tall the son of a bitch gets, 'still my kid brother.

This was Dean. THE Dean that Sam said wouldn't come looking for him for a few weeks.

Honestly, it wasn't as bad as Nick had been anticipating.

"He got himself in some trouble, but he's doing just fine."

"You mind telling me where he's at? I've been trying to call him for days and his phone just goes to voicemail."

Oh, but the breath Nick took was slow and cleansing. "I want to tell you to wait for me somewhere and I will go check with him and see if this is all ok… but you look like the kind of man that's going to follow me regardless."

Dean had a grin so very much like his younger brother. It wasn't as good. Not by half. A smile like this didn't go straight through Nick. It didn't do bad things to his resolve or summon illicit thoughts to the darker parts of his mind. But it was still oddly impossible to not return- and Nick found himself unwillingly smiling back.

"So, where'r we going, doc?"

"My place."

"You take a lot of patients home with you?"

"He didn't exactly give me much choice."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"He passed out and bled all over my car… what's a doctor to do?" Nick shrugged it off.

Thoughts moved over Dean's face. He was an expressive sort of fellow, though he looked to be mostly involuntary sharing.

Nick didn't really want to give the man too much time to finish those thoughts. None of them would be too helpful.

"I'm guessing by the fact that there's a gun on your hip that you're the same kind of trouble making deviant as your brother." He nodded to the little sliver of gun butt that he could see peeking from beneath the man's jacket. "But I'm also trusting that because he didn't warn me against you, and that he promised not to kill me on account of I saved his life- that you too will behave yourself."

Dean huffed out an amused breath. "Sam wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Yeah, well, your Sam got shot by the police and also put a gun to my head- so I will take a gentleman's promise from you that you're not going to burn my house down, or kill me and dump me out in the desert. Same as I got from him- or else you can fuck back off to California, or Florida, or wherever it is you guys came from, and just trust that your baby brother will come and find you when he's all convalesce and back on his feet. I'm not interested in getting involved in any of this."

"Dude. If my brother's alive because of something that you did- I'll fucking take you to Disneyland if you want. No arsen, dismemberment, or body dumps. I promise." He held a hand up over his heart like an oath. "Scouts honor."

It wasn't likely that a better offer was going to be coming Nick's way.

Not tonight.

He may as well take it.

Though he had strong doubts that this man here had ever been a boy scout.

.:.

Now Nick had never had any intentions of keeping Sam. Not at all.

But at the same time, he felt completely unready to let this man go so soon.

It was like fostering a rescue dog, growing completely enamored with the mutt, and then having to stand idly by as their adoptive parents came to take them away to their forever home.

… the analogy was far from perfect, but Nick couldn't help but find his mind stuck on 'puppy' as he watched the big dumb stupid man grinning and hugging his brother tightly.

Nick stayed apart from it as best as he could. Standing out in the hallway, wanting to give the men a bit of space, since it was obvious that they hadn't seen each other in a long enough period of time to actually start to worry. From his polite distance, Nick could only catch slivers of their quiet conversation. Things being whispered in conspiratorial tones along the lines of ' _a skin walker? Are you sure?'_ and an answer of ' _she was- and she's long gone by now'_. Things that weren't meant to make an ounce of sense to Nick and it was probably for the best.

Plausible deniability and all.

He didn't want to understand what they were talking about.

He knew it was nothing good, and that was more than enough.

Not even bothering to excuse himself, Nick went out to the back porch. It was a bit too cold to be out without a sweater or jacket or something. But he didn't plan to be out here all that long. Just long enough to smoke about half of a cigarette (he was still working on quitting and all), while he came to terms with the simple fact that he wasn't ready to say goodbye to Sam yet. Which felt incredibly stupid. It's not like they'd grown close over the last couple days that they'd known each other. In fact, Nick could probably sum up their total interactions in a couple pages worth of text.

But that didn't mean that the timing was right.

Sometimes goodbyes come too early.

In fact, more often than not they come far, far too early.

Two weeks later, Nick got a call from Gabriel that their dad had finally passed.

Having Sam there with Nick that night would not have made the news any easier to take. But at the same time- having anyone at all there with him would have made it easier.

Just because Nick was used to being alone didn't mean that he was any good at it.

Only, he'd been doing it for so long it just sort of came as second nature to him. Easy as breathing. Sometimes even more so.

The lonely kind of quiet kept getting filled with endless hours at work and avoiding his problems. And before too long almost a whole year had passed all without Nick even noticing it.

A year is almost enough time to forget about the four days spent with a convict sleeping in your bed. It was certainly enough time to warrant the overwhelming feelings of confusion that Nick felt when- on a humid summer afternoon, while he was sitting at home enjoying his day off and his air conditioner- the caller ID on his ringing cell phone had the name Sam attached to it.

Who the hell was Sam?

It took two rings before the mixed emotion of dread and excitement welled up in Nick with enough ferocity to make him feel slightly ill.

Right.

 _Sam_.

He only knew one person named Sam- whose number had been programed into his phone months ago with a whole lot of reluctance.

Against his better judgement, he answered the call, putting his phone up to his ear and hoping for the best. "Hello?"

"Nick- it's me." There was not friendliness or joy in Sam's tone. Only barely restrained fear. "Dean's been hurt. Really bad. I don't-"

"Can you take him to a hospital, or call an ambulance?"

"I can't- it's not the kind of-" Sam took a shaking breath. "We're in Amarillo. Can you-"

"I'll be there in about an hour." Nick was already up off the couch, finding his shoes and wondering why saying no or hanging up didn't even feel like an option.


	8. Chapter 8

"You two are… are possibly the most un-fucking-believably stupid men that I have ever met."

"Don't let it impress you too much, Doc. This is nothing." Dean's smile was more grimace than grin. "You should stick around for the after dinner floor show. That's when we pull out all the stops."

Nick looked at the pale and shaking man who had lost so much blood- who had been bandaged up to the point that his entire left arm, shoulder and ribcage had no skin visible- and he left the motel room.

It was night out, but heat was still coming off the black pavement of the parking lot in waves. A couple cars sat between the painted white lines on the ground. A couple more cars were whooshing noisily past on the highway only a few yards away. There were crickets, and a distant big rig horn a mile or so off intruding on the weirdly isolated feeling of being in the middle of nowhere- and why the hell was Nick here?

"Being a jackass is kind of his coping mechanism." Sam said softly as he came up beside Nick. His boots scuffing noisily as he paced a little. Still anxious, though it had lessened a touch in the last few hours as his brother had come back from that grey and questionable state that Nick had found him in. "He means thank you though… he's just not good at saying it."

"Fuck his thank you. And fuck you too for good measure." He ran a hand through his hair and his scalp felt wet. Sweating was not one of his favorite things, but Texas summers were unforgiving and he'd rather be out here perspiring than back inside with Dean and the stink of blood and ick. His only comfort right now seemed to be the smug satisfaction that these men wouldn't be getting their room deposit back. "I'm a god damned doctor and this- this is…" he trailed off, running a hand through his hair again, to frustrated to articulate himself..

"Out of the ordinary?" Sam supplied in a way that would have almost come off as helpful if he didn't sound so defeated.

"He had necrotic bites in his shoulder and arm, that if I didn't know any better I would say looked like it came from an alligator- only that's impossible and insane seeing as we're not in a swamp land. You should have taken him to the hospital a week ago, and you two bastards are lucky that he didn't lose his arm." Nick was rather proud of himself for not yelling, his voice flat as he struggled to keep his anger in check.

"Does it change anything if I told you that he was only bitten this morning?"

What a stupid suggestion. "A bite like that doesn't get that bad in a few hours."

Sam's shrug was all boneless and loose as he seemed to be finally falling apart. "Apparently it can if the bite comes from an afanc."

Oh, but Nick knew that he would regret asking. "What the hell is an afanc?"

"Welsh lake monster… though we're still not exactly sure how it got out here." Sam said it so matter of factly and straight faced it was almost believable. "We're guessing someone brought it to the states when it was still a baby, or maybe an egg."

Nick took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then he counted to thirty. It didn't seem to be helping him. "I don't want your details. I don't like you enough to want your details. In fact, I hate you. You and your brother and your lake monsters and whatever the hell illegal bull shit the two of you are up to. I don't want anything to do with it, and I resent you getting me involved."

But Sam was smiling.

"Put those damn dimples away. They aren't going to help you this time." His hands were in such tight fists that they hurt. "You should have taken him to an emergency room- and I can get fired for what I stole from the hospital to patch that brother of yours back up."

Sam's smile withered as he looked up at the sky. "Sorry, man. I… I didn't know who else to call."

"You call an ambulance. Christ, Sam. If I hadn't been near my phone when you called… if I'd been at work? He could have-"

"Thank you." Sam cut him off. Obviously not wanting to hear the alternative endings to that statement. "Thank you for coming out here. Thank you for taking the risk… with your job, and with us…and just... just thank you."

It was hard to hang onto his anger. "You want to thank me? Go buy me some dinner, and something to drink."

An impressed kind of grunt came from Sam. "You can still eat after all that?"

"The smell is… 's not great." Nick was not a fan of that rotting meat smell, though he'd be willing to bet that no one was. "But I missed dinner and frankly you owe me. Owe me big time. Possibly for the rest of your life, big boy. And with what I've seen so far of your great luck at staying out of trouble, that life of yours isn't going to go on for much longer- so you had best get to buying me some food while you still can."

Sam's smile was a bit more subdued. Not quite reaching his eyes, and those damnable dimples of his thoroughly out of sight. Safely out of sight. "Burgers ok?"

"Only if they comes with fries and a cold beer- otherwise don't even bother coming back."

With a solemn promise of food, the towering man left and Nick didn't have much option other than to go back into the motel room and check on his unwilling patient. Dean was right where he'd been left, sprawled out on one of the room's bed, nested in amongst every towel that they could find. Some still white and blending in well with all the gauze, some soaked with yellowish ick or coppery blood.

As operating rooms went, this one was a bit lacking in all the basic comforts that Nick usually enjoyed. Like equipment and sanitary conditions.

As half assed guerrilla operations went, it hadn't been anything to write home about. He wasn't proud of what he'd done- but it was still the best that he _could_ do under the circumstances, and he would own it.

"You dead yet?" Nick nudged a knee into one of the other man's feet that were sort of just dangling off the foot of the bed.

Dean stirred a little, eyes fluttering as he looked around to find the source of the question. "Not quite."

"Damn shame- but I guess your brother will be happy to hear it." He sighed and instantly regretted it as the deep breath only allowed the slightly rotten smell to fill his nose and mouth. Nick busied himself with collecting the towels and shoving them into the little garbage bin before tying the bag close and then propping open the room's only window. "Do the two of you make a habit out of almost killing yourselves annually, and if so should I be expecting to meet your third brother next year about this time? Maybe with a sword through his chest, or a stomach full of poisonous snakes?"

"Sorry. It's just the two of us." He had only the slightest hint of a smile as he watched Nick shuffling around. "But we'll promise to really make it worth your while next time."

"Please don't."

"It'll be great, Doc. All the bells and whistles. Blood and explosions. Maybe even a car chase."

Counting to ten didn't help any more now that it had when he tried it earlier.

"I like you even less than your brother." And Nick didn't even know that that was a possibility. He did know that he regretted giving this man some pain killers, because he was obviously loopy from them and his gentle joking only riled up something in Nick. "You're going to want to get yourself some antibiotics, and keep the wounds clean. And maybe try to avoid alligators, or whatever the hell was chewing on you."

"That's the plan, Doc." He flexed his left hand, the gauze bunching around his wrist. "The two of you were making a real big scene, you know. It's not that bad."

"Those pills we shoved down your throat a few hours back, when you were all fevered and starting to hallucinate, and thrashing around in pain- those were vicodin. They will wear off, and when they do you're really going to start to feel those abscesses that I drained and the bit of your deltoid that I had to cut away."

"You… cut off part of my shoulder." The haze of opiates and humor left Dean rather quickly.

"It was rotten." Nick had no sympathy. "I didn't really have a choice. So you're welcome, and you'll have a nasty scar you can show off to ladies in bars to show how tough you are." Not that Dean hadn't come with plenty of concerning scars in the first place. Just about as many as Sam. Some considerably worse.

The bandages were reexamined, Dean picking at the edges. "Was all this really necessary?" He asked as he flexed his fingertips, the only part of his skin showing on that whole side of his body.

"It's a little overkill." If Nick was going to be honest. "But you and your brother seem a be 'go big or go home' kind of men. I figured you wouldn't mind my over enthusiasm."

Dean sort of grunted, a rather non committal response as flexed his arm, testing his new limitations. "Thanks."

"You've already said that. It's over. We're good."

He was almost as skilled at frowning as Sam. "Look. I never really got to it last time, but you saved my brother. So thank you. I owe you."

Which was a few months past the normal time that someone expresses gratitude for that kind of help.

"That, and this," he gestured loosely towards the man who didn't even seem to have the strength to sit upright, "it's done. Like I said. We're good. Don't worry about it." He didn't want someone like this in his debt. It didn't feel like a safe arrangement.

With a focus that was slightly unnerving, Dean looked up at him. "I owe you." It wasn't open for debate. "He's the only family I've got, man. Only person in the whole world. Don't know what I'd do without him."

Which would have been kind of a sweet statement- if Nick wasn't a heartless bastard, or if Dean wasn't actually kind of terrifying in his own special, heavily armed, heavily scarred, looked like he could kill a man without batting an eye kind of fellow.

All facts that Nick thought best not to dwell on. In a few hours he would be back at home. His involvement in whatever was going on here would just be another odd sort of memory. One vague night with very little details and very little involvement that could be held against him.

He was rather stubbornly clinging to the fact that he knew little to nothing about these men. That gap in his knowledge brought him comfort.

Burgers and beer brought comfort of another kind- though equally important.

Sam passed him half the food that he'd brought back with one of those shadows of a smile that he seemed to be fond of today. "You can go eat outside, I'll stay here with Dean." Which was less of an offer and more of an order-

Any excuse to get some more fresh air was an excuse that Nick was interested in taking. So he didn't argue, but took his brown bag of greasy food and his brown bottle of cold-ish beer and saw himself back out into the warm night. The brothers probably had a bit to talk about, and whatever they wanted to talk about had nothing to do with Nick.

Unfortunately there were no benches or picnic tables outside, so the places to sit were a bit limited. Nick ended up settling for perching himself on his car's hood, leaning back on the windshield and just enjoying some starlight while he ate. Food was gone quick enough, which left him with a watery beer, a muggy breeze, and the distant sound of traffic.

It was not his usual method of decompressing after a day of work- but it would have to do.

Sooner rather than later he was joined by Sam. The other man hopping up beside him and stretching his long legs out. He was too big for the space, crowding in beside Nick and making the whole car dip a bit lower. Despite being disruptive to the whole relaxing thing that Nick had going for himself, the company wasn't wholly unwelcome.

"He finally sleeping?"

"Yeah. Little restless, but he's out." Sam lay back against the windshield, his shoulder brushing Nick's. The man looked utterly exhausted.

As a doctor, Nick felt a compulsion to go over basic patient care with Sam. To tell him all the important do's and don'ts that would inevitably be important over the next week or so- but the man obviously had had a rough day that was bleeding into a rough night and he didn't need the extra stress right now. It could wait.

But waiting was quiet, and the silence between them was a still too unfamiliar to be comfortable.

"You guys just passing through Texas?" He could make some stupid small talk to distract from the fact that this man's brother was injured and unconscious. "Is this some kind of yearly pilgrimage that I can count on? You two just barreling your way into my life under dubious circumstances every few months?"

The idea made him happier than he wanted to admit.

"We sort of just travel all over. Texas has never been the plan." Sam spoke to the stars, a bit distant and distracted. "We've been on a road trip for over four years now… but if it wouldn't bother you too much, I wouldn't mind saying hi when we pass through next time."

"Bother me?" Nick almost laughed at the idea. "I guess that all depends on if you consider your last two visits a 'bother'- because to be honest I don't like you enough to do this a third time."

"Only enough for the first two times?"

"Not even that much," he lifted his beer to his lips, but didn't actually drink any. "I only came this time for the food."

Sam chuckled, peeking an eye open to look sideways at Nick. Such an easy, open expression.

It wasn't for the food.

It was for this.

This stupid smile.

Nick had driven almost a hundred miles just for a chance to see this stupid smile again.

Which meant that Nick was in _way_ over his head.

With a slight pang of terror, he kept his gaze focused on the sky where there were no strange temptations or impulses. These were bizarre feelings that needed to be sorted out in light of Nick's little revelation. Feelings that he chose not to address at this juncture. Or possibly ever.

"I'll stay until his fever breaks." Was the best thing that Nick was able to come up with to fill the space.

Sam's brows drew low as he found a little frown. "You can stay the night. We've got that second bed and I'm not going to be able to sleep."

It was quite an offer- but not one that Nick was willing to take. "The longer I stay the more of a risk I have at a run in with the police when they finally catch up with the two of you."

"There's no police looking for us this time." Sam said with a soft laugh.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Not really, but I don't think I've ever lied to you." His laugh tapering off to a slow rumbling kind of chuckle. "Didn't someone once tell me that doctor patient relationships are based on trust? I trust you enough not to kill me while you're doctoring, you trust me that the cops aren't coming any time soon."

Which was asking far, far too much.

" _Sure_." He stretched the word out, tasting every last bit of scepticism it had to offer. "You and your Welsh river monster are incredibly believable."

"Lake monster." Sam corrected gently, as if that made it any less stupid sounding. "It's kind of a crocodile-beaver sort of thing about the size of a minivan. It ate a couple of teens off their family's jet skis last weekend."

"Of course it did." Nick nodded along, sipping on his beer, feeling rather grateful that if he was going to have a crush on a man, at least it was on someone who told terrible stories. The tall tales made it a hell of a lot easier to resist doing something he would likely regret.

"Well, that's what I've got- and you can roll your eyes all you want." Sam gave one of his loose shrugs that didn't really seem to mean anything. "It just feels nice to tell someone for once."

What do you say to something like that?

What indeed.

"You're too pretty to be this kind of crazy. You know that?"

Which drew a startled laugh out of the man beside Nick.

"But I guess I'll take stories of lake monsters over whatever the hell you've actually got yourself mixed up in this time around. I'd hate to think that I got myself involved with the wrong sort of person." He finished off the last of his beer with a small smile. "I've always tried to stay on the right side of the law, after all."

Sam was grinning that dangerous grin of his. All loose and comfortable and inviting. "Says the man who steals medical supplies and doesn't turn suspected criminals over to the authorities."

"The ethics and moral obligations of saving a life outweigh that of stealing." Nick said as he nudged the man's arm with his empty bottle, prodding and poking to distract himself.

"I'm not sure if a jury of your peers would necessarily agree- but I appreciate it all the same."

Nick waved it off, making a dismissive sound, because they'd already had this conversation and he had nothing new to add to it. What was done was done, and for all his blustering and saltiness about it, he still wasn't sorry that he'd gotten involved.

Sam's hand fit over his forearm, settling heavy and far too hot considering the humidity. It was a wholly unnecessary form of contact and Nick had absolutely no inclination to pull away, but also no idea what it meant and what he was supposed to do about it.

So he made the fatal mistake of looking over at Sam while he tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. And looking at this man full on, this close?

 _oh no_

He was far too pretty.

"You didn't have to help, Nick. Not last time. Not this time." Sam's expression so sincere it was almost painful to look at. "I don't know how to say thank you."

And it was the wrong move that Nick made next. He knew it before he closed the space between them. He also didn't give a good god damn as to what a bad idea it was- because such a perfect opportunity to make such a colossal mistake doesn't come around every day.

It was a soft kiss. All hesitant and slow and lacking the usual confidence to which Nick usually approached these kinds of things. A kiss that was more of a question than anything else.

A question that Sam did not answer.

Nick pulled back a few inches, just enough to gauge the other man's expression- and he was greeted with utter and complete confusion. As if no one had ever dared to kiss Sam before and the nice young man was trying to puzzle out exactly what on god's green earth was happening to him.

Which was discouraging.

However it was also not a no.

So…

His thumb skimmed the edge of Sam's jaw, leading his fingers up to tangle lightly in the soft tumble of hair behind the man's ear. Nick's hand cupping his jaw so comfortably as he leaned back in, fitting their mouths together in a way that felt dangerously right.

Three more slow, probing kisses, each a bit more brave. A bit more hungry.

At about the same time that Nick grew bold enough to slip his tongue along the seam of the other man's lips, Sam finally moved. For one blissful, toe curling moment, he leaned into Nick's mouth, lips parting just enough for his breath to ghost over sensitive skin and cause all kinds of ungodly havoc before he pulled away.

Sam was suddenly sitting all the way up, elbows resting against his knees as his slightly wide eyes stared fixedly at the dark motel windows. It left Nick laying back against the windshield with empty hands and a ruined sort of feeling.

Should he apologize?

More important of a question, was he sorry?

Since the answer to the second question was absolutely not, the answer to the first had to be the same.

"... well then." Nick looked to the wall as well, examining the half dozen windows and mortar and all things boring and not Sam.

"I'm, um…" words of a soft, confused confession came from a few inches away. "I'm not gay."

Startling them both, Nick started laughing. An involuntary sort of barking laugh that he couldn't quite get under control.

Sam kind of jumped, shoulders hunching up a little defensively as he turned to look at Nick. He wasn't mad though. Any normal man would have looked mad, or disgusted, or basically anything other than apologetic.

Not Sam though.

Such a sincere apology was written all over that lovely face of his.

It only made Nick laugh harder.

"I'm sorry." As if Sam's apology needed any clarification. He looked like he really meant it too. Bless his heart.

"Of course you're not gay." Nick ran his hands over his face and up into his hair, trying to steady himself, trails of amusement still curling hot inside of him. "I would have bet money on how straight you are- but god, I never would have been able to live with myself if I didn't ask."

Slowly toying with his lip in a horrendously distracting way, Sam watched Nick. "You know… most people just use their words."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Which got a small laugh out of Sam, though he still looked a little stunned.

"Come on. Don't look at me like that. You're safe. I'm not about to go down onto my knees and ask you to ride me like a bronco."

Sam's laughter became a little more strained.

Resisting the urge to curl up on his side and really relish in that rejected feeling that was ebbing in rather relentlessly, Nick found a smile that felt only a little strained. "In my defense, you _were_ holding my arm."

"Holding your arm…?" the logic was obviously lost on Sam.

"I've been forced though my share of watching romantic comedies. If one of us… _you,_ were a girl," Nick clarified his example as he went, "and you took hold of my arm while saying that you didn't know how you would ever thank me enough- I would _have_ to kiss you. I think it's required by law."

"Romantic comedy law?" Just like that, Sam was relaxing, uncurling from his knees and easing back down beside Nick against the windshield.

"My god, man. We're under the stars and everything. I'm not about to get myself in trouble with the romantic comedy police."

Sam's arms were folded loosely over his stomach and he was having a hard time looking at Nick. Seeming to favor making eye contact with the low buildings or the sky. "That's fair. That's fair."

Just like that, they were back to the strange gap where Nick felt a need to say something. Anything. Because the silence held all kinds of dangerous and horrible possibilities.

"Is it still going to be ok if I visit you next time I'm in Texas?" Sam asked the nothing up above them.

Nick resisted the urge to slide an arm around the man beside him and settled for smiling. "Yeah."

"Even if I don't plan to ride you like a bronco?"

His smile grew so easily into laughter. "Yeah. That's alright."


	9. Chapter 9

"Just where the hell have you been?"

Nick winced realizing that despite his best efforts to come home quietly, he'd been caught. All sneakyness aside, he simply kicked the front door closed and started toeing off his shoes. "You're not my wife," he mumbled defensively. Too tired to really get worked up.

"No," Gabriel frowned from his nest of blankets on the couch. "But I am your brother and you did sort of vanish and stop answering your phone."

"Only for a few hours."

"It's," he looked at his phone, "it's five in the morning. That's about eight hours past a few."

"Still not my wife." Nick ran a hand over his face, hiding a yawn. "I don't have to tell you shit."

Gabriel brooded, pulling his blankets close. The air conditioner must have been going at full blast, and it was almost cold enough that Nick wished he had a sweater.

"I'm going to bed." Which was a shorter way of saying 'please leave me alone for the next few hours- or I will be forced to injure you'.

"Was it a date?"

"Good night, Gabe."

"I know you weren't at work. I called the hospital and the clinic. They said you weren't in tonight."

"Nice detective work." He called over his shoulder as he saw himself down the hall. Closing his bedroom door behind him. A shower would have been nice. He could still smell the stink of Dean's wound on his hands- despite the fact that he'd thoroughly scrubbed them many times over before leaving the motel. But a shower would have been prolonging much needed sleep, and might have put him in a place where his brother would be able to pester him more thoroughly. Which would happen whether or not Nick wanted it to. It would just be far more easy to deal with after a few hours of being unconscious.

And sleep would have been so much more satisfying and fulfilling if his phone hadn't started going off before his head hit his pillow. He was ready to ignore anyone at all who dared call him at the crack of dawn. Ready to turn his phone on silent and just sleep on. Only, it was Sam who was calling- and oddly, Sam was the only person in the planet that he was willing to talk to right then.

"What's wrong?" Nick mumbled in way of greeting as he pressed his phone to an ear.

"His fever is back." Apparently Sam was perfectly fine dispensing with all pleasantries.

The patterns on his bedroom ceiling offered no comfort or advice. "How bad?"

"I don't have a thermometer, but his face and neck are hot to the touch."

"Is he awake?"

"Kind of?" There was no confidence in his words. Sam sounded… well, not afraid. But it was a feeling from the same zip code.

It hurt something in Nick's chest to hear the other man like this.

"Give him some tylenol to take the fever down- then you're going to have to take him to the hospital." Which is what Nick should have insisted on hours and hours ago at the beginning of this mess. "He needs antibiotics."

"… he's on an FBI watch list, Nick."

"He _needs_ to go to the hospital, Sam." See, he could use first names too. Make things all that much more uncomfortable.

"He keeps saying no." Frustration ebbing into the anxiety. "He's worried that the nurses are going to ask too many questions and he's not going to be with it enough to get himself out of the hospital before the police get there."

Which was _way_ too specific and had to be Sam paraphrasing his brother.

"Well, he should be more worried about dying." Nick wasn't interested in all this nonsense. He'd already ridden this ride and wasn't about to get back on again so soon.

"Tell him." Dean's voice was distant.

Sam must have put a hand over his phone, his own response coming muffled. "I'm not telling him."

"Tell me what?" Nick didn't want to know, but felt compelled to ask.

Somewhere out in Amarillo Dean was making demands of his brother that were too distant to hear proper. All that Nick managed to get out of it was the words ' _he won't tell you no'._

If that weren't true.

Nick didn't even need to know what the request was to know that he was likely to give into the inevitable absurdity. Telling Sam no didn't seem to be something that he knew how to do.

Such a sigh came over the phone. "I'm really sorry to ask, Nick..."

With a hand over his face he urged, "just do it." End his misery.

"Dean wants me to bring him to you. He says that you can get him the antibiotics he needs."

No.

The answer was no.

Working in the ER meant that Nick was not the sort of doctor who had a prescription pad. He couldn't just 'pick up' whatever drugs someone needed with an easy trip to the pharmacy.

No.

No Nick couldn't.

"Yeah." He heard himself saying for some reason. "Do you remember how to get here?"

Sam said that he did.

Damn him.

Damn Nick.

He got back out of bed, pulling his pants back on. This was stupid.

Really, really stupid. Even for Nick.

The house lights were all out, easy dawn light peeking around the edges of the curtains. It made things dim and uncertain as he quietly made his way back to where he'd left his shoes.

"Where are you going now?" Gabriel asked sleepily from where he was half asleep on the couch.

"Out… you need to leave."

His kid brother blinked owlishly at him. Slowly sitting up and pushing hair from his face. "Excuse you?"

"Out. I've got company coming over."

"Hey now. I'm company- and I'm already here. You don't need anyone else."

Nick gave him what he hoped was a withering look.

"Oh… _that_ kind of company." Gabriel made his own assumptions with a lecherous sort of grin and wink.

"Right. Sure… I've got to go to the store," he weighed out his lies and thought that they were passable enough, "go ahead and get yourself out."

"It is waaay too early in the day for this- but at the same time, you need to get your rocks off and I respect that."

Nick wished so hard that that was the real reason for this nonsense. His life would be so much more pleasant if he was getting booty calls instead of stealing drugs for criminals.

He left once he was sure that his brother was actually going to get his ass off the couch that he'd been living on the last few days (since his girlfriend had kicked him out again). It was a short drive to the hospital, which was not surprising considering that he was out hours before any of the commuting work traffic. Parking was a breeze too. These were all things that Nick took note of, on account of the fact that what he was about to do was really bad and he needed a bit of good to balance it.

The pharmacy tech wore the same weary look that Gabriel had had. It was just the right time of day for it. She smiled at Nick though. One of those closed lipped smiles that you give a coworker that you've known for years but really have never had an actual conversation with. "You're here late, Doctor Shurley."

He took a deep breath and just went for it. "Hey, Charlie. I know you're not technically open to the public yet, but is it too early to pick up my prescription?"

She got a little frown and turned to her computer, typing a few things in with pale fingers. "I… don't have anything in here for you."

"You should. I dropped off an order for amoxicillin last night." It was a nice broad antibiotic, good for animal bites or punctures. Not a controlled substance, so it probably wouldn't raise too many eyebrows to have him grabbing a handful. It was Nick's best bet.

Charlie raised an eyebrow and typed a few more words into her little computer before standing. "I don't see it. When'd you drop it off?"

"Right after my shift yesterday."

She sighed. "Right around the time _we_ were switching shifts too. Sorry, Doc. It must have gotten lost in the shuffle."

Nick smiled a hopeful smile and didn't feel great about this.

"What was the dosage?" Charlie smiled back as she went into the isles of pills.

Relieved, Nick lied his way into a small bottle of antibiotics, tucking them into a pocket as soon as she passed them to him through the little window. "Thanks. Appreciate it."

Her gaze shifted down the hall, then back to him. Ever so slightly worried expression on her freckled face. "Everything ok, Doc?"

He'd been really, really hoping that she wouldn't ask for details. Like why he needed the pills, or who had written the prescription. It kind of broke confidentiality protocol, and just general 'mind your own business' etiquette for her to even ask.

"Yeah. I'm dog sitting for my brother and the damn thing bit my leg a few days ago. I just want to be on the safe side." Which was not his best lie. But it was a short notice lie and he sort of panicked.

"See, now that's why I prefer cats." Charlie gave him a sympathetic kind of look.

"Thanks." He repeated his earlier sentiment and shuffled his way out before any of the day shift noticed that he was there and had more questions for him.

The less questions the better.

The less involvement the better.

Which begged the questions as to why he was letting himself get dragged deeper into this mess.

.:.

It would have been nice to not see Gabriel's car still parked out front of his house when Nick came home. Almost as nice as it would have been to not see the Winchester's big black hearse of a car parked behind Gabe's.

If there were any people who didn't need to ever meet- these were the first three that came to his mind.

God. How did he get himself mixed up in these sorts of situations?

Nick debated not going inside. He could just keep driving. Didn't have to park in the driveway. Mexico was only a few hours away. This mess in his house could stay here and he could start a new life, miles and miles away. Somewhere nice and quiet. With no little brothers. No towering men with wicked smiles and dangerous favors to ask. Illegal favors.

The idea of such a peaceful existence almost brought tears to his eyes.

Though that could have easily been the exhaustion finally taking it's toll.

Gabriel met him at the door with a sort of wild expression.

"When you said company was coming this was not what I expected." He hissed under his breath with an unsettled expression.

Nick tried his best not to grind his teeth. "I did tell you to get out before they got here."

"Hey, I was curious."

"And are you sorry about that now?"

Few people were as good at pouting as Gabriel. "A little. Yes." He glanced back over his shoulder into the living room, though it was empty, so Nick was left to only guess where the Winchesters had wandered off to. "Hell, Nick. Those men are walking mugshots."

Nick shrugged, because his brother's statement was not one that he could easily deny.

"You're not mixed up in anything too illegal, right? Because if the police come around then I don't know you. Never had a brother named Nick. Don't know what they are talking about."

"I appreciate the solidarity."

"Look here- the big one was in your bed last time I saw him, and the shorter one looked half dead. You _are_ my brother, but I have my limits."

This came as rather shocking news.

"Glad to know that there are somethings that you will say no to." Nick said rather dryly.

"It's not the gay thing," Gabe seemed to want to clarify.

"For fuck'sake," Nick ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not-"

"Yeah, Sure you aren't." Not said with any level of confidence. "But you're doing some off the books freelancing doctoring again. Which is how you got yourself on probation during med school. And I'm not sticking by you a second time around. This isn't one of those 'you get to graduate a semester late' sort of things. I'm pretty sure that they will revoke your license for whatever the hell you're up to."

It was easy to tell that your life had taken the wrong sort of path when someone like Gabriel was trying to give you moral guidance.

"First off- I'm not asking for your help, approval, acceptance, or input." Nick stood his ground. "Second, shut the fuck up. And third, you didn't stick by me the first time. You were the fucking idiot that I was sneaking into the clinic after hours to fix up because you didn't want to pay for the hospital visit. And last of all, I didn't hear you complaining when I was getting drugs for Dad. In fact, I'm almost positive that you were the one to suggest it in the first place."

"That's different. He was family."

"Gabe, get out." He couldn't do this. Not right now. "Go to a hotel. Go to a Denny's. Go home to your girlfriend and apologize for whatever the hell you did wrong this time. I don't fucking care what you do. Just do it somewhere other than here. At least until tomorrow afternoon."

Someone who wasn't Gabriel might have been offended with the gruff telling off. But they'd been brothers their entire lives and none of these demands were new or shocking.

His little brother just _sighed_ deeply and shook his mess of hair from his face. "Yeah, yeah. I'll leave you to your little gangbang. Go get your medical freak on and I don't want any details afterwards."

It wasn't worth voicing the reminder that Nick still, even now, was not gay. "Get out of here, you little gremlin."

"Just don't do anything that's going to lead to me having to identify your body when someone finds your lifeless corpse out in a field a week from now."

"That's the plan."

And what a great plan it was too.

Such a great plan.

Nick slipped past his brother, into the house. All the while trying to remind himself that getting back in his car and just fleeing the country was still on the table- and if he had any good sense at all then he would take such an opportunity more seriously instead of going looking for the ill gotten men that were lurking somewhere in his house.


	10. Chapter 10

One thing was certain.

"You look like hell."

"That's some grade A bedside manner you got there, Doc."

There was no benefit to defending himself. Nick only folded his arms over his chest and settled himself into the doorframe. "You're in my kitchen."

"I'm dying here. I deserved to sit down somewhere." Dean was not sitting on so much as draped into one of the wooden chairs like a discarded jacket. He was sweating- which was a bad sign. He was also glassy eyed and visibly shaking- which was an even worse sign.

Sam, by contrast, was simply hovering behind his brother looking oh so very alive and healthy (if not moments away from some kind of panic attack).

"You know, the hospital has tons of chairs. And beds. And medication." Nick pointed out a little less than gently.

"We don't need no stinking hospitals. That's what I've got you for, Doc."

Nick grunted and left the room. He found his ill used first aid kit and reluctantly returned to the brothers. The thermometer had settled down at the bottom of the beaten metal box that Nick had had since he'd stolen it from his older brother some time around the point that Michael had been in boy scouts.

"Here. Put it under your tongue and shut up for a bit." He held the thermometer out to Dean expectantly.

The other man took it and the following silence gave Nick a few moments to breathe and take stock of what to do next. Pain relievers (which would also help with the fever) and a few of the antibiotics that he'd technically stolen were gathered up and then placed beside Dean's elbow along with a large glass of water.

" 'm noft tfthsty." The man mumbled almost incoherently.

"No talking while temperature is being taken." Nick snapped as he caught up the man's good arm, pressing his fingers to his pulse hammering away in Dean's wrist, and counting while his eyes followed the movement on the wall clock.

Nick couldn't help be feel reminded of doing this little song and dance with Sam a little over a year ago. There were some striking similarities, though none of the fun. Not that he'd be willing to ever admit that he'd enjoyed even the smallest part of that whole mess. Because there should have been no fun whatsoever to be found in doctoring Sam.

He took the thermometer from Dean's mouth and held it up, reading the little line of silver. "Well, it could be worse." Were the only words of comfort that he could summon up. "Take your pills. Drink all the water."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Listen here, short stack. My house, my rules. You will take your pills, you will drink your water, you will sleep on the couch and you will not argue with me- or you can get the hell out."

If Dean noticed the name calling, it was hard to tell. "How come I have to be on the couch when Sam got the bed last time?"

"He couldn't walk." Which was not a great reason for inviting that man to his bed… but that was all hindsight, and in Nick's defense, it had sounded like a good idea at the time. "Also, he's prettier than you."

Which made Dean laugh in a way that was mostly a rough kind of rumble.

Nick wasn't currently feeling brave enough to see how Sam took that little declaration. He may never feel brave enough for that. Those kisses a few hours ago had scraped the bottom of his reserve of reckless abandon and foolishness.

"Well sorry we can't all be metrosexual man princesses." Dean tossed back his pills and sipped on his water. "Some of us have to do that ruggedly handsome thing."

Nick would argue that what Dean was doing wasn't really all that handsome- but perhaps Dean just wasn't his type.

Eww.

Nick had a type?

Worse things had happened to him- though he was having a hard time thinking of an example.

"Go. Couch. Sleep." They could focus on something other than Nick's wavering sexuality- and really, sleep sounded better than it should. It was already seven in the morning. Nick had been awake almost twenty-four hours.

Dutifully Sam went to his brother to help him up out of his chair. Dean grumped and batted his brother away with a mumble of "I'm hurt. I'm _not_ a kid. You are not carrying me to the god damn couch."

Sam continued to hover, but kept his hands to himself. "You fell out of the car earlier."

"My shoe was untied," Dean grumped and got himself upright, albeit a bit unsteady. "I tripped is all. Don't make a big deal out of it, bitch."

"Of course you did, jerk." And, the whole way to the couch, Sam hovered, arms open loosely at his sides, ready to come up at a moment's notice to catch his stubborn sibling if needed.

It was all as sweet as it was disturbing. Nick hated watching them in the same way that he felt insanely jealous of their obvious close relationship.

He and his brother Michael couldn't even be in the same room for more than a few minutes without punches being thrown. Gabriel and he tolerated each other a bit better. They could go a few days before driving each other insane. In either case, he'd never been as caring or worried for either of his brothers as these two men seemed to be towards each other.

He found himself waiting behind in the kitchen. Yes, he was exhausted and bed sounded amazing. He just couldn't bring himself to intrude on whatever the hell brotherly bonding was going on in the other room. They needed their space and he needed to take a good long look at his life choices that had brought him to this particular place in time.

It all boiled down to the fact that this whole problem could have been mitigated if he'd only said no.

He could tell anyone else no.

He was, in fact, _really_ good at telling people no.

Apparently he needed to practice a bit more.

"You going to get some sleep too, Doc?"

He startled. Looking from Sam who'ed come to stand a safe distance away (a straight man's distance) from Nick, to the clock on the wall. He was slightly horrified to realize that he'd been simply standing there beside the table for nearly half an hour.

"Yeah… yeah." Nick smiled weakly. "Your brother out again?"

"Like a light." Sam smiled back, and it looked just as tired and dishonest. "Is he going to be ok?"

"Yeah." It felt like the only word he knew and Nick had already bluffed his way through most of this morning anyway. Why not keep going? "He'll be fine."

"Wow," Sam's smile softened. "You are really bad at lying."

"I'm trying to give you a bit of hope. You've had a rough day."

Sam ran his hands over his face and up into his hair, taking a deep breath and seeming to brace himself. "Just be blunt. I'm a big kid. I can take it."

Now, Nick knew actually very little about this Sam. They'd had few to almost no meaningful conversations. Knew nothing about each other's past. Their relationship was essentially a non-relationship. They were acquaintances at best. Any attraction that he felt was wholly physical and clinically stupid.

And yet, instantly, Nick fell a little harder for this man.

"Honest? He should be in a hospital. I'm not this kind of doctor. I stabilize people enough to get them on to the kind of doctor that your brother needs."

This was not an answer that seemed to please Sam.

But no one was ever pleased with the answer to the request of 'be honest with me'.

No one.

Not ever in the history of ever.

Nick wished that he'd stuck with the lie. It wasn't in his nature though.

"I'll do what I can." He tried to ease. "Keep an eye on him… but if he doesn't perk up soon, I'll call the ambulance myself. I don't give a fuck what his last wishes are. He's not allowed to die on my couch. I like that couch."

Sam considered all of the above and nodded slowly. "Is it ok if I make some coffee?"

Which was not what Nick was expecting the next question to be. "You really need to get some sleep too."

"Yeah. That's not going to happen."

"There's nothing that you can do for him by making yourself even more exhausted than you already are."

"I know," Sam's smile went a little crooked, "but he's my brother."

And really, what more reason did he need?


	11. Chapter 11

Around two in the afternoon, Nick emerged from his corner of the house. Not exactly well rested, though he'd had a few hours of sleep followed by a quick shower- and with enough time left over to get something to eat before shuffling off to work.

Only, Sam was fast asleep in the comfy chair beside the couch and the scene that was provided sort of melted Nick's cold and bitter heart. It threw off his quick and easy plans and forced him to go back to his room and find a spare blanket- which was then gently placed over Sam and his dumb broad shoulders.

And if Nick took a little too much time carefully smoothing the blanket's edges, he was really the only one who knew about it. So he could keep whatever dignity he still had intact. At least that's what he thought.

Sam's hand slid over his, warm and slow their fingers brushed, "hey… did I fall asleep?"

"Looks like it." Nick searched the other man's face and there were a few moments too many of unnecessary eye contact before he stepped away from the recliner. Sam's hand fell away from his in a way that felt almost reluctant- but Nick knew that was just his own imagination. "How you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"How's the brother?" Nick glanced to the couch where the curled up ball of man lay snoring away softly.

Sam shrugged. "You'd know better than me."

"Well, he's breathing." Nick would do a more thorough investigation before he left for the day. As of now, he just wanted coffee. "I'll give him a once over before I leave."

"You've got work?" Sam tilted his head sleepily, stifling a yawn.

"I've always got work."

"Are you going to be alright to work after last night?"

As tired as Nick still was?

Oh, he would not be at the top of his game. But he definitely had things that he needed to do tonight and calling out of work was not an option.

Nick could only grin in response to Sam's question as he took himself to the kitchen.

Unfortunately, his coffee was not made in quiet, sleepy peace as he usually prefered. Sam shambled in. Barefooted and sleep rumpled and just god damned stunning.

It was all Nick could do to focus on getting the coffee creamer from the fridge.

"You making enough for two?"

He hesitated and added another scoop of grounds to the coffee maker. "I can."

Liquid breakfast was put together, Nick doing all things with easy muscle memory, same as he did every day. Doing his best to ignore the unsettling feeling that itched between his shoulders. There wasn't usually anyone else in here with him. Hadn't been anyone sharing his breakfast with him in years.

"I wanted to apologize for before," Sam started out of nowhere.

Reluctantly, Nick looked up from the percolating coffee pot. "Apologize?"

"I didn't mean to lead you on." Which was a strange thing to say out of context. "If I'd had known you were gay I wouldn't have-"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Big boy." Nick struggled with some intensely mixed feelings. "I'm not gay. I've had sex with women. I've _only_ ever had sex with women- and I have always enjoyed myself quite thoroughly."

"... but…"

"Also, what the hell do you think that you possibly did on accident that would have seduced me away?"

"I…" Sam looked lost. Oh so very lost. "Well, I…" he got an endearing little frown as their brief time together over the past year flickered visibly through his memories. "I can't think of a damn thing," he said with a soft, startled chuckle.

"You met me at gunpoint." Nick wanted to start at the beginning to really make his point.

"I _am_ sorry about that."

"And while you were mostly unconscious on my table, you punched me and knocked me flat on my ass."

Sam chuckled again, but looked to be trying to fight it. "Sorry."

"And you steal the blankets. And you snore. And you don't listen to me when I tell you to be careful with your newly sewn up side. And you only called me up again when you needed a very big and very illegal favor."

Sheepishly, Sam looked away. "Sorry."

"And you apologize _waaay_ too much."

"Ok. So I've been an ass to you." Sam shook his head, still smiling. "And I don't want to make things worse right now, but I've got to tell you, you have spectacularly bad taste in men."

"You're still an ass. And I'm still not gay. I don't have a 'taste in men' to be bad."

Not quite ready to let it go, Sam pressed on, "but you kissed me,"

"Of course I did." Nick slumped on the edge of the counter. Frustrated. "Have you seen yourself? You're fucking gorgeous."

To which Sam only blushed ever so slightly.

And Nick died a little on the inside.

Should have just shut up while he was ahead.

But no.

He had to open his mouth.

Because Nick couldn't ever be that smart.

There was no self preservation in him apparently.

Though it did little to save him from his own asinine words, Nick busied himself with getting down some mugs and pouring himself some coffee as a distraction.

"Was I… the first guy you've ever kissed?"

Nick choked a little on his coffee, burning his mouth and feeling just really great about himself.

"Why are we talking about this? Why the hell would you, or anyone, _ever_ want to talk about this?"

With such an endearing smile, Sam sort of shrugged. "Dean always says that I talk about these sorts of things too much. He's not too big on those after school special kind of moments."

"No one is."

Sam came over, closer than anyone wanted him to be at this point- but he poured himself some coffee and retreated to the table watching Nick in an oddly expectant way.

With some reluctance Nick joined him. Not at all trusting the a man he sat across from.

"Well… was I?"

"God." This was like being trapped in a lower rung of hell. Doomed to suffer through awkward conversations for the rest of his existence "What difference does it make?"

Sam looked almost as frustrated as Nick felt.

"I could have let you down a little more gently. I hate the idea that I scared you off men."

Nick did his best to level the other man with a crippling glare. It seemed to have zero effect and in the end he just ended up sighing and blowing on his coffee. "No."

"No?"

"Just no. No we are not talking about this. Not ever. We don't know eachother well enough for me to share my sexual history. So please just let me drink my damn coffee."

Upwards of two whole minutes passed before Sam started up again. "I was born in Kansas. We left when I was a kid. Moved all over the states while Dad worked… odd jobs."

Nick looked around the room for help.

But there was none to be found.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm hoping to get to know you better. Figured you might be more willing to talk if I started." Those dimples of his were blatantly out as he smiled over his coffee at Nick. "I went to Stanford on a scholarship- dropped out to help my brother with a job… I've never owned a pet. I prefer vanilla ice cream. I'm six four without shoes on. I'm a lousy shot with my left hand. And my first kiss was when I was twelve. Her name was Audrey, she smelled like strawberry shampoo, wore converse, and played girl's softball."

Criminal sorts of men were not allowed to do cute things like enjoy vanilla ice cream, or spill their life's history over a cup of coffee with a relative stranger.

It made the big weirdo even more charming than he had any right to be.

hell

Nick set aside his mug and laid his hands palm down on the table. Silently admitting to himself for the first time that he didn't want off of this ride.

"I was born out here. Never lived anywhere else except when I went to New Jersey for med school. I've got two brothers. One who was an actual boy scout, and one with a criminal record that's mostly misdemeanors. I'm somewhere in the middle I guess." Middle in age and middle in temperament both. "I used to help out in a stable when I was a kid in exchange for riding lessons- but I haven't been near a horse since I was a teenager. Vanilla ice cream is for wimps. I prefer the hard stuff… mint and chip. And _my_ first kiss was a girl named Lilith. She was two years older than me and she used tongue."

Sam was smiling like he'd just heard the best story ever, instead of a short list of inconsequential facts.

"You are far too enthusiastic for just… for everything." Nick sighed. "Everything."

"Sorry." The man's smile went sheepish again. "I just don't usually have a chance to sit down and get to know people."

"You still don't know me."

"No… but I know you better than I did. And I like that."

Nick should have taken the complement for what it was. But he wasn't that sort of man. "For a straight dude, you've got a distinct gay flavor. Did you know that?"

Which got Sam laughing pretty hard.

Which made Nick feel like he'd won something.

Which meant that he needed to leave before he made it worse.

He finished his coffee like he was getting paid to do it. The simple but important process of drinking and not choking himself on a hot beverage kept him well and fully occupied for the next few seconds before he could get up and quickly leave the room to look for somewhere safer to be than sitting across from Sam.

.:.

The circumstances in which Nick took and had tested a sample of Dean's blood were not exactly kosher. He chose not to dwell too much. The people in the lab knew the sample came from a John Doe in ER, and any more particulars than that were not brought up. Thankfully.

The whole messy process had evolved Sam driving himself and Dean to the hospital parking lot and meeting with Nick during his lunch break, so that the doctor could draw some blood and slip it into the labs to get a culture run.

It all felt very convoluted and shady and Nick hated it.

But he also felt very sneaky and Bond like, and that sort of had a charm all of its own.

The fun wore off fast when he got back the results before the end of his shift and it was with some reluctance that he gathered up the things that he needed and headed out.

"Well I've got good news and bad news." He announced as he came in to find his Winchesters perched in the livingroom like plaid fruit hanging from an unwell tree.

Dean was mostly asleep. Hiding beneath seemingly every blanket that Nick owned. Cocooned in and breathing heavily. Sam seemed to have a better handle on his bearings (despite the after midnight hour), slumped into the only recliner with what looked to be an empty mug in one hand and the tv remote held loosely in the other.

"Bad news first." Sam mouthed softly, obviously not wanting to wake his brother.

"I'm going to have to give him tetanus and rabies vaccines… and a couple other boosters just to be on the safe side."

"That's the bad news?"

"That and his white cell count is horrifically high. So we know he's fighting an infection, but we don't know what it is so our best course of action is still broad blanketing him in strong antibiotics and just hoping." It was far from an ideal situation. "Good news though, is that he didn't test positive for any of the regulars that we worry about. But you two don't look like you live lives in which you worry about being up to date on all your shots. So…"

Sam offered one of those small smiles of his that he'd been so generous with lately. "I couldn't tell you the last time either of us got our shots squared away."

"Which is why I'm here. To babysit and doctor you two idiots." He set his very infrequently used duffle bag on the coffee table. It was just big enough for a change of clothes, and he'd stopped taking it to work with him years ago when he'd realized how much simpler things were if he just wore his scrubs home. Tonight it once more served it purpose. Carrying his dirty uniform- along with clean syringes and vials of medication that Nick should not have in his possession.

"So… you want to wake him or should I?"

"Do we need to do it now? He just fell asleep."

And this is one of the reasons that Nick hated dealing with the family of patients. They were always overly worried about their loved one having just fallen asleep.

"If you like we can start with _your_ booster shots?" He suggested with a smile that had too many teeth.

"I need some too?" Sam asked the rhetorical question and instantly shrugged it off. "Yeah. I'm probably over due." He set aside his mug and the tv remote and sort of awkwardly held out an arm before pulling it back. "How do we do this?"

"Well I've got three boosters for you. They need to go into a nice meaty part of you, usually an upper arm, or an ass cheek. I'll let you pick your preference." Because if Nick was allowed to choose he knew exactly what he'd go for and he had a fairly educated guess as to how that would go for him. "Before you pick, bear in mind that wherever I put them is going to be sore as hell for the next day or so."

Sam's smile curled a little too much on the right side. Saying all sorts of things that he wasn't putting real words to. Disappointedly (when faced with the other option), he shrugged off the unseasonable plaid flannel that he was wearing. Bearing his impressive arms, and then dragging up his tshirt sleeve enough to show off the well developed curve of a bicep.

"Right here?"

"That's the spot." Nick sounded hollow to his own ears. Distracted.

It was hardly his own fault.

When faced with such mouth watering perfection, Nick only knew one course of action. He set himself down on the coffee table, his knees problematically close to Sam's, as he dug into his duffle bag and pulled out what he needed. Work was good. It was easy to focus on. He loaded up three syringes and set them aside to pull out an iodine swab. "This is going to be cold, and it's going to stink."

Sam offered his shoulder. "Go for it."

The needed space was swabbed clean, and left that weird orange color that iodine was so good at.

"Ready for the fun part?"

"Yeah- and you seem to be enjoying this far too much." Sam observed with a sideways look at the waiting needles. "Is giving shots your favorite part of the job?"

Nick worked methodically, speaking evenly as he lifted and injected each booster shot in turn. "Not my favorite. No. But at the same time? You've been giving me hell since you came into my life. I don't like you. And it's really satisfying to get to hurt you as payback… even if just a little."

It had to have hurt. Nick had to get the same boosters every few years for work and he knew the lingering burn that they left in your muscles. It wasn't even close to unbearable. Probably would be a four out of ten on the 'ouch' scale.

But normal people at least wince.

Sam didn't even blink.

"So, I've always wondered what it's like to be a stone cold badass." Nick pressed a bandaid over the already irritated looking injection site on the man's shoulder. "How you liking it?"

"Well, you know," Sam sort of shrugged, peering at his bandaid, "some one's got to do it." He smiled faintly before looking up at Nick. "What am I getting immunised for exactly? Not that I don't trust you, You know… just curious."

"Usually suspects. Hepatitis, diphtheria, tetanus. Your brother will get a few extras because I don't know what the hell was gnawing on him."

Sam let his short sleeve fall back into place. "Welsh lake monster."

"Don't start with that again. Please."

With a shrug Sam settled back into his chair. "Just saying."

"No saying." Nick shook his head. Too tired to deal with this nonsense again. The joke hadn't been that funny the first time around and it hadn't aged well.

Nick scooted down the line of the coffee table to roughly wake Dean and explain the injection situation- and Dean took the news about as well as could be expected and grumpily offered out an arm from the warmth of his blanket cave.

Unlike his brother, Dean made a big deal over each injection. Wincing and hissing between his teeth like he was being lightly tortured instead of gently poked.

After the fourth injection, and obvious more still coming, Dean shied away. "I'm not a pincushion here. How many of those do I need?"

"A few more. Some are boosters because who knows what the hell you've been up to. Some are broad antibiotics because you're in need of some antibiotics."

Dean was frowning like he didn't believe a word of it.

Nick frowned right back. Not liking the interruption to the methodical injections. "Look, you get to be the injured criminal type. I get to be the doctor. You came into my house and asked for help. So give me back your arm so I can finish or get out."

With a roll of his eyes, Dean offered back out his arm, sighing in an over dramatic sort of way.

"You're fine." Nick picked up the next needle, getting right back to work.

"You could look a little less happy, Doc- and you _could_ be a little more gentle with the poking. I'm going to need that arm later."

"Sorry, didn't realize that I should have stolen some little baby needles for your delicate skin."

"Fuck you. I'm injured here."

"Fuck you. I'm saving your life." Nick grumped right back- not giving the man a bandaid, because he didn't deserve one.

"Yeah. Yeah." Dean narrowed his eyes and tucked his arm back into his blanket cave. "Thanks, you sadist."

"Yeah, don't mention it. Asshole." Nick slid off the table and took the used needles off to the garage where he could dispose of them somewhere safe. Usually he would have let Dean's snipes just roll off. This was not his first ill tempered patient, his worst, or his last. Dean really sort of fell into the valley of low key irritable- but damn it. He was in Nick's house while doing it. A little bit of gratitude wouldn't be unwelcome.

What he didn't want, but ended up getting in spades, was cornered by a Winchester on his way back in from the garage.

"If you're going to apologize for him, _again_ , you can save your breath." Nick leaned up against the washing machine, seeing as Sam had well and thoroughly blocked the doorway back into his house. "It's not a big deal. Big macho men like him don't deal well with being taken out of commission. I see a lot of cowboys and rough necks come through the ER. You're brother's nothing new or special."

Loosely folding his arms over his stomach, and awkward sort of motion, Sam frowned. Just a hint of worry on the edges of his mouth. "You say no big deal- but he looked like he was starting to get to you."

"Look. I just got off a twelve hour shift. A fairly bad twelve hour shift. Which ended in me stealing medications that can get me fired, for your _brother_. So sorry if I'm not a ball of sunshine. And your concern is adorable, but not needed. I'm fine."

"I'm not adorable."

"But you _are_ concerned."

Sam sighed, his shoulders hunching and his feet shuffling. "I know we're not exactly welcome company. But I'd like to get through the next few days without pissing you off so bad that you move house without telling us- and I never get to see you again."

It was hard to cling to his tired grumpiness when faced with more than six feet of sincere man staring him down. With those big puppy dog eyes. Damn him and those kind eyes that he used like a weapon.

Damn Nick for instantly giving in.

It must have showed on his face because Sam replied with the sort of smile that sonnets were written about.

"There's some chinese food for you in the fridge." He nodded back towards the kitchen. "I'm not much of a cook. Otherwise I would have made you something as a thank you for all of this. But... I bought some take out." Sweeter words had never been uttered before. "Thanks."

It was important to note that Nick did not instantly propose.

Though it was a temptation, he resisted.

He resisted like hell.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

"What kind of chinese food?"


	12. Chapter 12

Summer days in Texas were hotter than hell. Night was a bit better once the sun was nice and tucked away- though the humidity levels didn't exactly play but the same rules. Regardless of what a gross, sweaty mess anyone would quickly turn into if they stayed out too long, Nick and Sam opted to eat out on the back porch. Well, Nick ate. Sam helped himself to a cold beer and the two of them sat out on the unkempt grass in relative silence. Sam seeming to realize that Nick needed a bit of quiet time after a long day of work.

It was nicer than it had any right to be.

Nick would still be blaming the heat and the tired for the weak, sort of complacent feeling that was settling down heavily in his chest. He ate his cashew chicken and noodles at a slow, content pace, his own beer leaning against his knee while he and his companion watched fireflies darting in and out of the hedges.

There were many nights like this over the past few years. Sitting out under the stars, having a last smoke before bed. But he'd always done it alone. Now there was company, and no cigarettes- and the changes weren't exactly bad.

"Your lawn looks like shit." Were the first words that Sam spoke since coming to sit almost half an hour ago.

Nick snorted through a laugh.

"I should have been a bit less blunt, hn?"

"Nah. I liked it." Nick felt himself ginning and sort of hated himself for being so happy right now. He set aside the little cardboard box that held the remnants of his meal. "And I've got other priorities than yard work."

"Do you have a mower?"

Try as he might, he couldn't puzzle out why this information might be important to anyone at all. "Why?"

"I mean… I'll be here the next few days without anything to do." Sam shrugged like there was nothing more to be said.

Nick wanted to just flat out tell him no. At the same time, his yard really did look like shit. "I mean, I won't stop you- but I'm not expecting free labor out of you while you're here. So anything you do is up to you, big boy."

Sam grinned back, though it was hard to tell if it was because he'd been given permission to do manual labor, or if he just really enjoyed his nick name. "I'm not so good with staying in one place and doing nothing."

And that much, Nick did not need to be told.

He'd noticed the cleaned dishes drying on the counter and the junk mail that usually laid in a pile on the edge of the table had be straightened.

His beer had grown warm, but he didn't mind as he finished it off. "Well, you're welcome to my lawn if it keeps you from going stir crazy." He slipped out of his shoes and socks, stretching his toes in the grass.

Somewhere in the yard was an army of crickets, all singing their little hearts out. It helped to fill that quiet that opened up between the two men.

"How's the hip doin'?" Nick tried to find some words to help drown out the silence.

Sam's shrug meant nothing.

"I don't usually get to see patients again after pulling bullets out of them. If they have any sense they don't end back up in the ER, and I never get to know how their story ends."

"It's sore sometimes if I've done a lot of running- but nothing terrible."

The sort of thing that he expected to hear. "Did it leave much of a scar? I tried to keep it as small as possible, but I didn't have a whole lot of choices."

Any concern was waved off with an impatient hand flap. "I've got worse."

"I know… I've seen most of 'em. At least as many as you had up to last time you came through here."

Sam looked at him a little skeptically.

"You were getting in my shower and I was making sure that you kept your stitches dry." He reveled in reliving this little memory. "I was there. You were there. Your clothes weren't…"

It was too dark to be sure if Sam was actually blushing. Though, Nick had a strong inclination that a bit of cheek coloring would probably accompany such a sideways smile.

"I was doctoring, so don't get your delicate sensibilities all in a twist. You were just an injured patient to me." Which was true… or almost completely true at least.

Leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky, Sam said, "you're really good at compartmentalizing. That's really respectable."

Respectable?

Nick?

Never.

"Guess I have to be? You don't want to think of the body that you're cutting open as a real whole person with thoughts and feelings, day jobs, appointments, kids." He made a face. "Emotions make a bad doctor. Empathy is fine- I mean, I'm not a sociopath. There's just never a good time in an emergency to have feelings about the person that you're working on."

He could feel Sam watching him, but chose to stare fixedly at the back fence. "You do have some interesting scars though. Not what I usually expect to see on your type."

" _My type_?" Sam hmmed curiously.

"The type that gets shot by the police."

Sam was grinning again. Nick could see it from the corner of his eye. And he knew that he should go to bed. He'd passed that wise decision threshold a little while back. Nothing good would come from him if he stayed here talking with this man.

And yet, right here he stayed.

"In your defence though, it was a downward angle bullet wound. You must have been sitting or kneeling when they shot you… which is the main reason I didn't call the police."

That grin faded rather quickly. "I was kneeling."

Nick nodded. "Yeah… that's not exactly normal. So I figured I would hold on to you until I sorted things out. And then I checked around, I've got a friend down at the local PD and they never saw any report about shots fired or with someone fitting your description- and then no one ever came around the hospital looking for you, and..." He shrugged. "All seemed a bit strange if you ask me."

When police get a man on their knees they have really passed the point when shooting is necessary. Nick wasn't here to judge- at least he tried not to. The state of Sam lead his mind to wander it's way to it's own conclusions.

"See this one here?" Nick pointed out a reddish scar that curled around the back of Sam's elbow and halfway towards his wrist. "That's a defensive scar."

Sam took a slow, stunted kind of breath. "Yeah?"

"I see a lot of these- from shell shocked looking kids whose parents say that they ' _fell_ '. Only way to get a scar like that is if you're holding your arms up while you try not to get hit. I see too many of those… and this," he let the tip of a finger tap the underside of Sam's jaw. "You've got one here too. They must have hit you so hard your ears rang."

"Knocked me out cold actually."

Nick folded his hands over his stomach where they had a chance of staying out of trouble. "See, that's why I didn't kick you to the cirb. Someone got there before me. You look like you've lost more fights than you won, and I've got a soft spot for a sob story."

"I've won my fair share." Sam said a little too softly and it forced Nick to actually look at him.

The kid looked so uncertain and open and all kinds of damaged and Nick just about got up and ran inside.

"I can see that too. Here, and here, and here." He lightly tapped thin silvery scars over the back of Sam's hands. "I bet you've broken noses, knocked out teeth."

Walls were being built back up rather visibly over the other man's face. Settling himself into something clean and safe and perfectly comfortable. A nerve had been hit, and Nick had gone somewhere that he shouldn't have- but it was nothing that couldn't be repaired.

Though it dawned on Nick something terrible, "how old are you?" He asked the nice young man sitting beside him who looked far too young at times.

"Twenty five."

 _Ye gods_

"You look like hell for only being twenty five."

"Yeah, well, you've only seen me shot or sleepless." Sam grinned like there was nothing in the world that could upset him. Switching so easily and defensively back to perfection. "I clean up real well."

"I bet you do." Which seemed like the best thing to say. The longer Nick' own words rang in his ears the more regrets he had. Feeling all kinds of self conscious. "Me, less so. But that's what I'm going to go do. I can still smell work on me and it's… it's _no bueno._ Then maybe try to get some sleep."

Sam nodded.

"You going to be ok sleeping on the recliner again?

With a sigh, Sam nodded again. "It's better than the floor."

"You know, at the risk of sounding wildly suspicious- I've got a really big bed. You're welcome to half of it."

And the smile that Sam had was polite but very uncertain. "No, that's alright."

"You're going to have to get over the 'me kissing you' thing at some point."

"It's not that,"

"Bull shit. It's completely that- because last time you were here you didn't bat an eye about sleeping next to me."

"I couldn't really move myself around, and I wasn't going to ask you to sleep somewhere else in your own house."

Nick felt highly sceptical of such a weak excuse. "Look, you've go my word, no spooning, no necking, no touching. You are going to throw out back out sleeping on that chair for the next week."

"Week?"

"Your brother's in it in a bad way. Give him a week of chilling the fuck out or he's just going to make himself worse."

"Dean doesn't do that laying around doing nothing sort of life any better than me. He's going to go crazy stuck on a couch for a week."

"He can get up when he feels like it, but he's going to need injections of antibiotics like I gave him tonight every few hours. The pills I started him on aren't strong enough. So unless you plan on taking him to the hospital soon, you boys get to stay here. Because that's where the medicine that's keeping him alive is."

Options were weighed and Sam picked at the tall grass, frowning as he thought. "You're the doctor." He finally said with a nod.

"That's right I am." Nick got to his feet. Picking up his trash and stretching before he started back inside. "So I'm getting a shower- and you're welcome to the right side of the bed, or you can sleep your gangly ass on that lumpy old chair. Just keep in mind, I'm a _doctor_ not a chiropractor. And if you hurt yourself sleeping there there will be zero sympathy and zero help from me."

"That's fair." Sam chuckled and stood too, his empty beer bottle loose in his fingertips. "G'night, Doc."

"Yeah, yeah. Just make sure that the doors are all locked up before you go to sleep." And Nick dumped his trash in the garbage cans before going back in and down the hall to his bathroom.

That chemical antiseptic work smell was scrubbed off, and Nick kept his shower short and his mind blank. He was sort of looking forward to a nice deep sleep, not interrupted by suddenly injured people or unexpected drives to injured people. He'd have a nice normal night's rest.

Only he didn't expect to find Sam already asleep in his bed. Breathing deeply and mostly face down in Nick's favorite pillow. At least he was on the right side of the bed.

Unfortunately, Nick now had promises that he needed to keep.

And keep them he would- but he certainly didn't sleep as easy as he hoped.


	13. Chapter 13

Sharing a bed with Sam was bad enough on it's own the first two nights. Promises aside, the temptation to do something- anything- grossly inappropriate always seemed to be lingering on the edge of Nick's peripherals. Throwing alcohol into the mix did nothing to help the situation.

But that mistake came at the end of the third night, and such a grievous mistake and it's inevitable consequences had not even entered Nick's mind at the start of that day. There were far more pressing concerns in the early hours than his wavering convictions.

"Are you actually watching soap operas on my television?"

Dean looked more surprised at being caught than actually guilty for his crimes against good taste. "Don't you have work? Booboos to be putting bandaids on, or something."

"It's my day off- and I don't need a reason to be in my house. Seriously though. _Doctor Sexy_? This show is an insult to the medical profession, and all men who wear cowboy boots."

"He looks amazing. So shut your face." Dean scooped up the tv controller and held it close, protectively.

"All Texans are required by law to own at least one pair of boots. We consider it an honor, as well as our civic duty- and that man right there," he pointed to the sham of a doctor on the screen, "is a tool."

"He's an amazing doctor, and lady's man. You don't know what you're talking about."

Nick realised that he liked Dean more when the man had been incapacitated by fever. He'd been saltier, but somehow easier to deal with when he was too tired to argue

"Dude, go help Sam with the lawn or something- it's your yard after all."

"It's my fucking tv and you're tainting it."

The remote was gripped a bit tighter and tugged beneath the pile of blankets that still surrounded Dean. "Dying men get to pick the shows. It's a rule."

"You're not dying. You're recovering surprisingly well."

"I can't hear you over this amazing episode. Sorry, man. You'll have to come back in half an hour when it's over."

Definitely liked him better when he was too tired to be _this_ much of an ass.

Nick, against his better judgement, did the only nice thing that he could think of. He left the room. Despite the fact that arguing made him feel better, it wasn't going to accomplish anything. Just a few more days of good healing and that lump would be up off of his couch and out of his life and Nick could be free.

Free of one Winchester… and the other.

One he was looking forward to.

The second not as much.

He made the mistake of looking out the front window... and at the strapping young lad who was diligantly mowing his lawn.

Nick retreated to the other end of the house, hiding in the kitchen. Regardless of what he half planned to do when he got to the safety of the room, he got himself rather distracted by the fact that Sam had already set the coffee pot going. It smelled like heaven. It also smelled like someone caring enough to take care of Nick when he couldn't be bothered to extend the same courtesy to himself.

It was unfair just how much he was going to miss Sam when he left.

Who would make his coffee?

Who would steal his blanket at night?

It's odd how quickly you can get used to someone new in your life.

Coffee went well with some self indulgent moping about the ever closer loss of something that was not his in the first place.

The big dumb object of his affection came in as if summoned by Nick's inappropriately lingering thoughts. A little sweaty and cheeks a little red from being out in the pre-afternoon sun. His cheerful grin only made things worse.

"Good morning." Too damn cheerfully Sam greeted him as he got himself a glass of water from the tap. "No work today?"

"No work." Nick nodded behind his very black cup of coffee. He tipped it towards Sam in a half salute. "Thanks."

More of that grin and Sam sat across from him at the table, long fingered hands wrapped around his already half empty glass. "You're still welcome. Same as every morning."

"What am I going to do with myself when you leave me?"

"Sleep better at night and not worry about getting caught stealing at work, I would imagine will be the first two things you try out."

"That does sound pretty good." He had to admit. "But what about my coffee?"

"You'll have to make your own, unless you forgot how."

Eye contact was hard when Nick was fighting not to grin back. "Maybe I'll just have you write up a 'how to' for me. A nice easy step by step I can still follow when I'm half asleep in the morning."

"I'll write it really big."

"Yeah?"

"Biggest piece of paper I can find." Sam promised. "For those tired old man eyes of yours."

"You're too kind. Far too kind." He let himself smile back, if only just a little. Playing it cool felt far more important than banter, or friendship, or whatever the hell was going on. It was great and all, but it would be over any day now and there was no sense in getting in too deep. It would only make saying goodbye all that much harder.

Despite whatever strong facade that Nick was pushing, Sam didn't seem to either buy it or really care.

"Dean's doing a bit better today." More of that optimistic cheerfulness.

"He is."

"I promised him a few games of poker today to break up his couch dwelling monotony. I've got a deck of cards out in the car… do you play?"

"Not since I was a teenager." Nick frowned a bit. "I mean, I remember how- but I'm not going to be very good."

Sam tossed back the rest of his water. "That's fine. Dean cheats like you wouldn't believe. It'll be easier on you if you never planned to win in the first place."

.:.

Even Sam's full disclosure warning was not enough to really brace Nick for the level of sneakery that took place. They were almost a dozen hands into their game, and Dean had easily won every single time. It didn't seem to matter who dealt the cards, and there were never any outward signs of cheating- but every hand he tossed down a full house or a flush. Every damn time.

Like magic.

And Nick had an indication that Sam was letting his brother take each victory out of some kind of affection. If only because the giant of a man always folded instead of playing his cards, and never showed what they were. It was only a guess on Nick's part… but he had his suspicions.

He kept them to himself and chose to focus on how happy he was that they were only playing for crackers and M&M instead of cash. It would have been a hell of a lot harder to let this man take cash instead of snack foods.

"I am on a lucky streak today," Dean crowed as he popped a few chocolates into his mouth, chewing loudly.

"Don't eat the money, dude." His brother chided as he shuffled the cards again.

Dean only munched more loudly. Little flecks of colored candy bright on his teeth as he grinned too broad. "Don't be a sore loser, Sammy. It doesn't look good on you."

In a bid for most endearing act of the day, Sam faked a small cough, hiding a smile behind his hand as he looked away. Nick saw it though. It was hard to ignore.

And he really, really wanted to ignore.

"Hey, you're not exactly holding your own here, Doc." Dean slid the cards his brother dealt him off the coffee table. "Why don't you make yourself useful and order a pizza or something?"

Nick took his cards, frowning at them and rearranging them in a more pleasing way. "You are not well enough for pizza. Also? go screw yourself."

"I had pizza yesterday,"

With a frown, Nick turned to Sam, accusingly. "You gave him _pizza_?"

Those big hands of his held his cards up like a shield as Sam tried rather unsuccessfully to hide. "He _likes_ pizza."

"Well I like cigarettes and long legged redheads with daddy issues- but you don't see me smoking, or getting a lap dance. There's a time and place for everything. And the time for pizza is not a few days after coming back from the edge of death."

Too offended to even look at his cards, Dean just stared in confusion. "Well what the hell am I supposed to eat?"

"Soup."

" _Soup_?" He looked like a man whoed just been told to live off of raw sewage.

"Yeah. Soup. We'll hook you up some nice Campbell's chicken noodle. Just what the nearly dead need." Nick found himself struggling not to smile- and found it so frustrating that this was now a problem with both brothers.

"Yeah. I'm not doing that."

"Well, I'm not ordering you a pizza." Nick tossed two of his cards to the center of the table and waited for Sam to deal him some replacements. "But I might do steaks tonight."

"Hold up. So no pizza, but I can have steak?"

Nick let his grin show. "No. You can still have soup. But I think steak for me, and your brother might be nice. He's been 'cooking' for me since he got here. Besides, Texan hospitality and all that shit."

Dean tossed back a few more M&Ms. "Hospitality for him but not me?"

Wisely, Sam kept on saying nothing.

"He's not half dead. And I _do_ hate both of you, don't get me wrong. I just hate him slightly less."

"Playing favorites is very uncool, man."

"You're unwelcome house guests- not my children." Nick reminded. "I can play favorites all I want." He pushed a few of his remaining crackers to the center of the table. "And I'm going to raise you ten."

Dean made a face and mouthed Nick's words back to him mockingly as he traded in three of his own cards. "I'm not eating soup like a little kid home from school with a tummy ache."

For the first time in a while, Sam spoke up, hesitant but with a significant weight in his offer. "We could get you some tomato and rice soup…"

Instantly Dean softened. "Well… I mean… that could be alright."

Despite the obvious and inexplicable calming effects of tomato soup- Dean still played poker rather viciously, and in less than half an hour Nick was out of 'money'. He bowed out as gracefully as possible, excusing himself to the kitchen because he needed to take stock of what he had and what he needed to buy at the store if he was in fact going to make steaks tonight.

Sam caught up with him far too quickly. Looming dark in the doorway behind Nick- as Sam seemed to be uncomfortably good at doing.

And Nick only jumped slightly when he glanced back to see what the small noise behind him was. "Do you have any idea how creepy you are when you lurk like that?"

" _Lurk_?" Sam's smile was not even remotely apologetic.

"Well what do you call it?"

"Standing. I'm just standing."

"Sir, people your size do not _just_ stand. You tower, and intimidate, and most definitely lurk."

Sam's answering shrug was all boneless and graceless as he settled his shoulder against the doorframe. "Were you going to go grocery shopping? I don't want to ask for another favor- you've already done so much, but-"

"But could I buy your brother a can of tomato and rice soup?" Nick knew. Didn't understand, and didn't need to. He still just knew.

"It's what he used to make for me when I was a kid and didn't feel good."

On an impulse, Nick almost asked why it had fallen to Dean to be making soup for his kid brother. Wasn't that usually the Mom's job? Or at very least the Dad's (seeing as he tried to not get too hung up on traditional gender roles). At very least it shouldn't have been another kid's job to play nurse. The brothers looked too close in age for there to be any alternative on that one.

Though, for once Nick thought things through the appropriate amount before speaking- and didn't bring up how odd he found Sam's answer to be.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll get him the damn soup. As long as you promise not to give him any more fucking pizza. His body's having a rough time. He doesn't need complicated foods. He needs soup and crackers. Juice… maybe popsicles. Your brother looks like the kind of guy to get overly excited at the opportunity to eat a popsicle."

"I would come to his defense, because that sounds weirdly insulting- only yeah. He'd probably love a popsicle."

"Then I'll add them to my shopping list. See if we can't appease the dying man."

"He… he is getting better though. Right?" So much reassurance was needed in such a simple question.

It crippled a vital part of Nick to see this man as anything other than a big, awkward, troublemaker. In the short time that Nick had known him though, it had become obvious that Sam had a co dependency with his brother and it was as sweet as it was unsettling. "Your brother is one of the most stubbornly resilient men that I have ever seen. He'll be fine."

Even if Nick had no desire to perpetuate, or be part of this mess before him- Sam's grin sort of made his knees weak.

.:.

It was a little strange to come back from the store to find the two Winchester brothers sitting incredibly close on the couch, booth peering at a battered old laptop covered in band stickers. It was significantly more strange when they both looked up at the same time with the same overtly innocent expression when Nick walked in the door.

"Whatever the two of you weirdos are looking at, I'm going to just assume it's not porn- as I make my way to the kitchen and far from whatever the hell requires you guys to snuggle up like that."

The brothers moved apart comically fast and both started making noises of protest that Nick pointedly ignored as he went through the kitchen and out to his back porch to set up his little barbeque grill.

Few things went as well with a good steak as a cold beer. And if there had to be a second place contender it would probably be a good action movie. They let Dean choose, because of course Sam would let Dean pick the movie.

So they sat. Two steaks with a bit of grilled veggies. Two beers. One bowl of very red soup from a can. And one James Bond movie that Dean had been able to find after much searching in the depth of Nick's Hulu account.

It wouldn't have been his first pick. Or even tenth. But at least it was a Sean Connery movie and not one of those oddball later ones. Still… Nick found that he spent most of the drawn out fight scenes and car chases watching the brothers on the couch.

One brother in particular.

And it was a bad choice. He knew.

Sam looked good while watching movies in a dark room though. The colors from the tv lighting his face at odd intervals. And despite Nick's attempts to be subtle about his creeping, it seemed that the other man could feel someone watching him because from time to time he'd glance away from the screen towards Nick, then down at his drink, then he'd drink, glance back at Nick, then towards the screen. Then they'd cycle through the whole thing again a few minutes later.

If Nick had any shame at all, he'd simply stop looking at the poor guy and setting off the strange shifting, drinking, floundering shuffle. But then where was the fun in that?

Eventually they seemed to reach a breaking point and Sam actually got up from the couch and left the room instead of just looking around awkwardly.

Nick actually felt a little guilty right up until the man came back with a new beer for himself and a glass of water that he handed off to his brother like they were in a relay race.

"I hate water." Dean grumbled before drinking half of it and set the rest unfinished on the coffee table to be forgotten.

It was a long movie.

By the time that Sean Connery was roughly kissing the second blonde bomshell of a woman during the course of the movie, Nick snagged the controller and hit pause.

"Hey, now. I'm still watching that." Came Dean's immediate protests.

"You're falling asleep." Nick had noticed the shorter man slowly drooping. His head falling against the back of the couch from time to time even if he was making a point to try and keep his eyes open. "You need your shot still, and I'm not giving it to you while you're asleep." Nick dragged himself to his feet and hit the light switch on the wall. "And I'm not doing it in the dark."

They'd settled into an odd sort of routine over the past few days, and at the mention of his antibiotics, Dean was instantly rolling up his sleeve. "Fine, fine. Get it over with."

A second beer for Nick, a third for Sam, and a syringe filled with stolen medication were all retrieved from the door of the fridge.

"I get your pizza argument, even if I don't agree with it." Dean wrinkled his nose just slightly as the needle bit into his arm. "But why do you two get real drinks and I'm stuck with gallons of water. Beer is mostly water. I've watched _How it's Made_."

"Alcohol doesn't play nice with antibiotics." Nick said simply. "You'll have to be a good boy for a few more days."

"And if I decide to stop taking these shots, because I'm feeling much better?"

"Not a great plan. Even if you feel fan-freaking-tastic, your body's still fighting off an infection. Watch your spy movie and keep napping and cheating at cards for just a bit longer."

It didn't feel like much to ask, but as Nick took the dirty needle out to the bin in the garage he could hear the brothers doing something behind him which sounded suspiciously like arguing.

They had never argued around Nick before.

He was sort of glad that he was retreating to the other side of the house the whole time so that he missed the meaning behind the harshly toned whisperer. By the time he came back to the room Sam looked to be about half way into beer number three and the movie had been turned back on. Exciting music to accompany another gun fight while men in suits ran around the tv screen.

Nick settled back into his recliner. Determined to make it through the remainder of the spy movie, and by the look of it, it seemed that he'd be the only one to go the distance here. Dean was snoring softly before the ending credits rolled. Sam was still this side of awake, but he had an odd look to him. He couldn't be drunk. Not off of three beers- though there was definitely something very off. His gaze gone glassy and unfocused, distantly fixated on the far wall as his hands twisted tightly around the neck of his empty bottle.

"Not as much of a Bond fan as your brother, I take it?" Nick tried to feel things out, not really sure how to read Sam. They still hadn't known each other that long.

" _Hmm?_ " He blinked a little wildly, eyes focusing on things in this world as opposed to wherever the hell he'd been lost in moments before. "No. It's fine."

"... dinner ok?"

"Yeah." Sam smiled thinly. "It was really great actually." He sighed and placed his bottle on the table, then turned to sort of tuck in his brother with the blanket that'd been thrown over the back of the couch. Sam pushed hair from his face as he turned back to Nick. "We're on the road all the time. It was really nice to have real food for once and not something off the back of a menu or from a convenience store."

Nick couldn't help but wonder, even if he refused to let himself ask. He was violently sticking to the original plan of the less known about these men the better.

The few moments of silence that passed weren't uncomfortable in the slightests, but they were apparently plenty of time for Sam to start slipping away again.

"You doing ok there, big boy?" Uncertainty, Nick tried to drag him back. Not at all sure what was going on here with the distant somberness all of the sudden.

With a few more quick blinks, Sam returned. Giving another one of those barely there kind of smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He glanced sideways at his brother, then over to the floor somewhere down around his feet. "You happen to have anything stronger to drink?"

That gave Nick pause. "Are we celebrating?" He smiled softly, trying to joke a little. "Is it your birthday?"

"No," and that got a small smile out of the other man. Something that looked a bit more honest and amused. "It's more of a 'going away' sort of thing."

"Oh," was all that Nick could seem to say to that. "Am I going somewhere?"

"We're leaving in the morning."

"Oh?" Nick repeated. And then frowned. "Wait. Where the hell are you two going? He's not ready to get back to robbing banks and eluding the authorities just yet."

Sam's elbows were on his knees as he sort of settled into himself. Such a long frame folding down so easily. "We're headed up to Oregon."

"Neat." Nick's chest felt a bit tight. "He still has four more doses of antibiotics that he needs to take. It's a really bad idea to stop taking them early. The infection can-"

"I _know_." Sam didn't raise his voice, but he definitely put some unexpected weight into it. "That's why we're taking the medicine with us."

"Are you?"

"He knows you sleep late. We were planning to leave around seven, so we wouldn't wake you."

There were two very clear and opposing ways to feel about these plans.

First: Nick was going to once more be free from whatever nonsense and obvious trouble came packaged with these brothers. So, hooray?

Second: Fuck them for cutting and running on him without so much as a 'thanks for risking your job for us, giving us a place to sleep, buying us food, and not calling the cops'.

"Look… I don't want to. I'd rather he rest a bit longer. I'd rather we don't just steal your shit and run. But we have to go."

Nick sat there, still caught firmly between the two feelings he was having. Not really sure what to say just yet.

"You're going to give me that look like you think I've got a few screws loose- but there were some campers gone missing up in Olympic National Park."

"And you two boys moonlight as park rangers in your free time? How altruistic of you."

"Five whole separate sets of campers, weeks apart. There are search crews and there's talk of shutting down the park." Sam almost rambled the words out like he was trying so very hard to convince Nick of the importance of their choice. "And it could be a rogue bear or something, but we've got to go check."

Nick just watched Sam. The movie credits had given up and the main menu had returned, making the room a bit brighter. Not that that helped the situation in the slightest.

Crazy.

It was the only thing that he knew for sure.

These boys were crazy.

Or liars.

Nick prefered crazy.

"What could it be if it's not a bear?" He really didn't want to know.

Sam took a slow breath through his nose, watching Nick, gauging his reactions. "Dean thinks it might be a Bigfoot… I think he's just hopeful. But looking at photos of the clawed up trees and the wrecked campsites, I'm guessing it's something else. It's too far west to be a Jersey Devil, but it could be regular run of the mill demons, or another windigo… maybe even a werewolf. No bodies have been found yet, so it's too soon to make guesses."

Yep.

Crazy as a bag of cats.

He pushed himself to his feet. "I _do_ have something stronger to drink."

Sam followed Nick to the garage. As he was just so good at doing.

It felt like being haunted. The other man hardly making any noise as he moved behind Nick like a shadow. His voice was startlingly loud in the quiet of the house. "I know how it sounds, but-"

"Yeah. No. I don't think that you really do." Nick slammed on the garage light, squinting into the glow of the bare bulb and the deep shadows. "However, you'll be happy to know that the fact that you're fucking nuts really helps me to resist the urge to rustle the sheets with you."

That nicely shut Sam up for a few seconds. Long enough for Nick to move some boxes along the wall to reveal a small liquor cabinet. "I have to keep it tucked away from where my brother might find it. He's sort of a recovering alcoholic and I don't need to give him any temptations. You know?"

Sam nodded shallowly. "Dean's sort of the same way. Borderline alcoholic. Never sleeps more than a couple hours a night… being here for a few days has been really good for him. He looks almost human again."

Not wanting to hear any more of how good he was at taking care of these ungrateful boys, Nick pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey and held it up like a question.

"You struck me as more of a scotch drinker." Sam said after a bit of thought.

With a smile Nick toed the cabinet closed. "I am, and I do. But for bastards who take advantage of my hospitality and doctoring skills and then run off in the middle of the night- I don't get out the good stuff."

He _sighed_. "I don't _want_ to go. I'd rather Dean stay here and fully recover for once instead of running off to punch a monster in the face- but people are missing, possibly dying, and we can't just sit here."

"You know. I've said it once, and I will happily say it again. You are too damn pretty to be this kind of crazy."

Sam smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes and went back into the kitchen, letting Nick be the one to follow behind for once. He pulled down two glasses from the cupboard like he owned the place and then leaned against the counter and waited for Nick to catch up.

"Oh, we're not even sitting down for this?" Nick raised an eyebrow. "Because if we're getting standing, sloppy drunk then you really do need to explain to me why exactly it is that we're drinking. Because as far as I know it's just the Tuesday night that you're admitting that you're stealing my stuff and leaving."

In an instant, as easily as drawing breath, Sam got a look on his face reminiscent to a kicked puppy. "Just the antibiotics."

"Look, we know that you and yours are only here because I'm a doctor and ya'll need one." Nick poured a little splash of whiskey into each glass. "I'm helping. That means letting you idiots take the damn medicine that he needs and I won't say shit about it. Not tonight, and not next time you two show up on my doorstep broken and bleeding and in need of repair. I never got into this line of work for the 'thanks'. Or for the promise that brothers wouldn't force their way into my home and steal my stuff."

Sam kept the puppy dog look, but a frown was worming its way in.

Lifting his glass in a toast, Nick gave his sharpest smile. "Just remember, if anyone asks who's been patching you two bastards up, you don't know me- and I don't know you."

A bit reluctantly, Sam raised his glass too. "I know it doesn't seem like it… but we appreciate your help. You saved my brother's life last week, and mine the year before that. Thank you, Nick. I don't know how else to say it. Just… thank you."

"Don't get mushy on me, big boy." Nick tossed back his shot, feeling the warm burn slide down his throat. "And you're welcome." He watched the other man drain his glass, and then poured them both a bit more. "Just like you'll be welcome next year when you show up half dead again."

"I'll try not to."

"Oh, come on," and Nick felt a little too relaxed with Sam already. Drinking like this with him was a bad plan. "I'll miss you if you don't."

"How about I just call next time."

The idea was amusing for some reason. "You're going to call to tell me that you're dying?"

"Or just to say hi?"

Such an offer. Nick touched the rim of his glass to Sam's, giving them a soft clink of agreement. "Just to say hi."

It was a deal that they could both agree to. It sounded nice, and kind of normal.

Something that friends would do.

Agree to keep in touch.

Like two kids that met at summer camp.

Two kids who drank far too much.

Too much to remember exactly how or when they went to bed. All Nick knew for sure was that when he woke up he was laying on his side, facing the bedroom door. The room was dark. The bed was warm. The arm heavily around his waist and hand curled up against his chest was warm too… so was the mouth pressed to the back of his neck.

He had no idea what had woken him.

If Sam's soft, steady breaths were any indication, the other man was deeply asleep.

The house was still and quiet.

No reason to be conscious right now.

Nick didn't want to move.

He didn't want to wake Sam.

The other man had never been this close to him before. Practically a living, breathing blanket. So warm on the muggy summer night, even with the window open, that Nick was practically sweating. And still he didn't move.

Or at least, not more than sliding a hand over Sam's. Their fingers mismatched in size, but still fitting together in a pleasing way.

Nick's head felt muddled. Partially the whisky, partially the heat, and partially the fact that he was the little spoon.

It wasn't a bad place to be, even with the weirdly unfamiliarity of it all. Sam's chest pressed to his back, their knees tangled together, and heat, and heat, and heat pooling between them.

That what must have woken Nick from his whisky haze. Sam snuggling up behind him like they were teenagers. And he had no idea how long he'd be able to stay like this. How much longer until the 'early morning' time in which the brothers would be leaving.

But for now? As he fitfully started to pass back into a dragging, drowning kind of sleep, Nick decided that he didn't mind.

Didn't mind all that much at all.

And when he woke a second time, hours later, with daylight streaming in through the cracks in the curtain, the only warmth in his bed was from the sun.

Nick minded more than he had words to articulate.


	14. Chapter 14

Apparently a man of his word, Sam actually did call Nick a few times after leaving. Though it wasn't always just to say hi. The phone calls were sporadic and varied wildly from simple 'hellos' with seeming no other purpose other than to hear each other's voices, to needing medical advice, to intoxicated, to worse.

The first one came a week or so after he'd left. Still summer, still fucking early in the morning. It was almost like Sam didn't understand that Nick was not even remotely human until at least 10am.

Half asleep, he answered his phone, worried that it might be work or some kind of real emergency. Nick bleary pressed his phone to his year, clearing his throat in an effort to find his voice.

"Yeah?"

"Hey," Sam had to be smiling on the other side of the phone line. It was impossible to not hear the happy in his tone. "Did I wake you?"

Nick opened an eye, squinting at the bedside clock. "No. It's only five in the morning. Why would I be asleep?"

"Sorry, man."

"If this is just a social call, I swear I will find a way to reach through the phone and slap you."

Sam chuckled and the rolling kind of sound did something funny to Nick, dragging him a bit closer to being awake.

"What should I do if I'm cold?" Sam seemed to be doing a bit of stretching to find a valid reason to be calling at such an ungodly hour.

"Put on a damn jacket. You're going to have to do better than that or I'm hanging up."

"It's snowing. Really snowing. What do I do so I don't catch hypothermia."

"It's snowing in Oregon?"

"No. We're outside of Juno-"

"As in Juno, _Alaska_?" Nick ran a hand over his face. "You're in Alaska now?"

"Yeah, well. We took care of the windigo in Olympic Park, then caught wind of something further north and just kept going."

Hanging up was still an option.

A very real and pleasant sounding option.

Nick rolled onto his side and just sort of balanced his phone against his cheek so he could tuck his arms comfortably against his stomach, settling back in. "So, it wasn't a bear then? … you mind telling me just what the hell a windigo is?"

"A human turned cannibal who gets stronger each time they feed. We think that one had been holed up in the woods since back in the 1700s."

"Right." Nick yawned. "That's enough crazy for one day. Thanks though. If you still haven't put that jacket on, go for it. Should warm you right up. Goodnight."

"It's ten below outside."

"And are you outside?"

"No… we're in a ranger cabin. Like… _cabin_ , cabin. One room, made of logs."

"Neat. Start a fire if there's a hearth. Put on a damn jacket. Don't drink alcohol like they do in old movies. It just thins your blood and makes you colder." He rambled off some basics, his head feeling muddled with the want to be back asleep. "Bundle up if you can. Wait for daylight and things to warm up, and then get the hell out of Alaska. Go somewhere warmer. May I suggest Mexico"

"Expert doctorly advice there?"

"Look, big boy, you don't need me to tell you how to be warm. I'm going back to sleep."

"Dean's doing better," Sam interjected before Nick could hang up. "We took the stitches out a few days ago."

"How bad is the scar looking?"

"He's got worse."

Which did not tell Nick much. "Can he move his shoulder though?"

"It looks a bit stiff when he moves it around- but he says it's fine."

Apparently the stubborn pain ignoring stupidity was a family trait. "Good… good. If that's all you've got, I really do need to go back to sleep."

"Yeah. Thanks, Nick."

"If you call me again before normal business hours, and someone isn't bleeding or on fire, I _will_ hang up on you. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Nick felt an unwilling grin take over and he had to fight to keep it out of his voice. "Don't 'yes sir' me. You ass."

Sam chuckled again- which did nothing at all to help the situation.

Not at all in the mood to get all flustered by those deep, manly sound, Nick simply hung up. His phone got tossed onto the bedside table and he was comfortably back asleep in less than a minute. It was a good sleep. A restful, content sort of sleep, knowing that somewhere on the other side of the united states he hadn't completely botched up someone's shoulder.

.:.

The second phone call Nick missed altogether. It had been over a month, and he had almost completely put those Winchester boys out of his mind- up until he was coming off a shift, exhausted and sliding into his car. He had stopped smoking quite some time back, but the habit of sitting in his car after work, just having a quiet few moments to himself was still very much a needed routeen. Only now instead of smoking he would check his phone. Mindlessly poking at the internet and taking in absolutely no information. Only tonight there were missed calls on his phone. Many, many missed calls and one new message.

Reluctantly, Nick hit play and sort of braced himself for whatever emergency this was.

"Pick up your damn phone." It was definitely not Sam, but Dean's recorded voice on the line. And that was oddly unsettling in its own right. "No one's dying here, but we could sure use your help, doc."

What choice did Nick really have but to call back?

"God. Fucking took you long enough." Despite that it was Sam's phone, it was definitely still Dean talking. "You don't check your phone?"

"Not when I'm at work. No." And instantly Nick shifted from worried to annoyed. "I'm in an Emergency Room, I can't just take social calls."

"This isn't a social call. Sam's hurt."

Hurt bad enough that he wasn't the one calling Nick.

It was enough of a threat to subdue Nick's general spineyness and bring him back around to worry. "What happened this time?"

"There's a hole in his hand."

That stopped Nick and he just took a second to stare blankly at his car's windshield. "... what do you mean 'a hole'?"

"I mean I can see daylight through his hand. A hole. A fucking hole."

Nick did not think that now was the right sort of time to bring up that it was the middle of the night, and thus not possible for there to be daylight shining through anyone. Inconsistencies aside- this was not a good diagnosis. "I'm going to start with saying take him to a hospital."

"We're in the middle of Wyoming. There's not a fucking hospital anywhere around here."

"Is he bleeding?"

"No…" There were some shuffling sounds and muffled talking way out in Wyoming. "It's not bleeding anymore. I wrapped it up as tight as I could."

"Can I talk to him?" He'd prefer to speak to the patient directly. Nick didn't like playing telephone… especially over the telephone.

"You don't want to talk to him right now, man." Dean sighed. "He's high as a fucking kite. Just tell me what I need to do."

Nick frowned a deep frown out at the night sky. He could ask why Sam was high. That seemed like it might be a good question. But it also might not be an important question to the current situation, so he let it go for the moment.

"Well… can he move his fingers?"

"Yeah. We checked that out when he first got stabbed. Everything still moves- there's just still a fucking hole through his hand."

"Ok." Nick had just spent twelve hours dealing with similar (though not quite exciting) drama here at work. His brain power and will to help were wearing thin. "Well, if he can move his fingers still then the bones and tendons are fine. It's got to be a small hole. Clean it. Iodine if you have it. Otherwise rubbing alcohol, peroxide, whatever disinfectant you have if you have. Keep it clean. Keep it dry. And get him to a hospital where they can put some stitches in him."

Dean paused, absorbing the short list of directions. "Can I stitch it up for him instead?"

Nick sighed. Sighed harder than he possibly ever had before. "I don't know _. Can you?"_

Grumbling came over his phone. "I _can_. I'm asking how serious this is."

"I can't see it, and apparently I can't talk to him. So use your best judgement. But I'm telling you, as a doctor, I'm pretty much always going to recommend taking stabbing victims to the hospital."

"We're about three hours from the nearest hospital." It was Dean's turn to sigh. "I'll take him in."

Which was good to hear. Honestly, the idea that they might not go to a hospital sort of terrified Nick. It was a nice sort of comfort knowing that someone slightly more professional and qualified than Dean was going to be seeing to the damage of the day.

.:.

Call number three came about twelve hours later. Comfortably around noon, once Nick was well rested and had had coffee.

It was Sam this time. Sounding so very tired, but oddly happy. "Hey," Came his instant greeting as soon as Nick accepted the call.

"Heya, big boy. You didn't die."

Sam laughed softly in that open, easy was of his. "I did not. And they didn't have to cut my hand off or anything."

That feeling of hope from last night came back. "He got you to the hospital then?"

"Yeah. We're still here. Dean went to go find lunch. The nurses have me stuck in bed for the rest of the day."

"... for getting stabbed in the hand?" That seemed a little overly dramatic.

"And the broken ribs, and mild concussion, some internal bleeding." Sam sounded only slightly guilty over his list of injuries.

It was more than Nick needed to know, and it only added to the worry that he'd been feeling since last night's phone conversation. "You boys aren't exactly staying out of trouble, are you?"

"Well, you know how it is. There were some witches, and then some really exciting animated rose bushes with thorns like you wouldn't believe... just normal middle of the week kind of stuff for us. Really boring actually."

"The crazy thing isn't nearly as cute as you think it is."

"You know it is."

Nick had very mixed feelings about that.

.:.

The next call was another late night one. Another call that Nick would have missed if he'd been at work. Only he had a few days off due to it being the Thanksgiving weekend and him having been somehow talked into going to stay a few of those days with his brother, and his brother's off and on again girlfriend, and their small dog.

Nick had the couch all to himself. Comfortably stretched out, comfortably under a blanket, and actually just getting to relax and read a book for probably the first time since last Thanksgiving when he'd summoned up enough brotherly love to come out to his madhouse.

Gabe was in bed, as was the neurotic girlfriend.

It was just Nick and the overweight dog out here on the couch.

So peaceful it was almost too easy to forget that he was actually at his brother's house- which was not a place that he liked to be if he could help it.

He almost didn't answer his phone when it rang.

Seeing as it was Sam… not answering was probably a good idea.

And yet, Nick still set his book aside and sat up, bracing himself before hitting that little green button and saying "hello?"

"Hey, doc."

In his life, Nick had come across more than his fair share of drunk people. He recognised the slight slurring instantly. And honestly had no idea why this call was happening, or just what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

"Everything ok out there?" Take it nice and slow and careful seemed like the best bet.

"Hmm, nothing broken or bleeding this time."

"That's… good." Nick drew his knees to his chest and rest his chin against them. Getting comfortable. "It's been a few months."

"I missed you talking."

Which was enough to get Nick to smile. "You're drunk."

"That too." Sam laughed. "I'm at my uncle's for the holiday. We had a few drinks before bed."

"And you thought you'd drunk dial a doctor in Texas just to sort of level off your night?"

Something that sounded oddly like a stack of books falling to the floor came over the line, followed by Sam's quietly swearing and then whispering into the phone, "I'm not _that_ drunk."

 _Oh boy_

"Not that drunk- but you missed me?" Nick couldn't help himself. It was awkward, but sort of funny in a uniquely horrible kind of way.

"You're a good man."

Nick snorted a little laugh, mindful to keep his voice down because the last thing that he needed now was to accidentally wake his brother and have to explain who he was talking to in the middle of the night. "How much did you have to drink, big boy?"

"...just a little."

"You don't sound just a _little_ drunk."

"I would have needed to have a hell of a lot more to drink to be really drunk." Sam explained in the kind of way that no sober person ever would. "I have a very high constitution."

" 'm sure you do," he eased. Enjoying this stupid conversation in exactly the way that he knew that he shouldn't. It had everything to do with the fact that he also missed hearing this man's voice- but he absolutely refused to entertain such a notion. It would never lead him anywhere good. "How's your hand doing?"

"My hand?"

"The one that apparently had a giant gaping hole in it a few months ago."

"Oh," Sam laughed. "Dean made a big deal about it, but it really wasn't that bad. I'll show you the scar next time I see you."

It shouldn't have made Nick as happy as it did that there was a next time already lined up. Even if the date was not yet set.

"So you're doing ok?"

"Aww, Nick. Are you worried about me?"

Nick grinned into his knees, glad that Sam couldn't see him because it meant that he didn't have to watch himself so much. "Why would I be worried about the man who is constantly getting shot and stabbed?"

"I'm careful."

"If that's you being careful then I'm _definitely_ worried about you."

Unfortunately, worry alone was not enough to keep this half of a friend anywhere close to safe.

.:.

They spoke every midnight that week. Quietly whispered conversations over the phone while their brothers were asleep in other rooms. It was a communal lul in both of their hectic lives and Nick looked forward to each call, watching his phone late at night and just waiting for it to light up with Sam's stupid name. He felt every inch like a teenaged girl waiting for her crush to call- which was far too accurate of an analogy that it hurt. And he did his best to ignore that buoyantly happy feeling, or at least not let it take over too much of his life, because he knew how this would end.

A week in the phone calls stopped.

Nick had gone back to work and Sam had gone back to whatever the hell it was that he was doing with his life that Nick didn't want the details of.

Half a year later and Nick was assuming that the other man was either in jail or dead. Granted there had been a whole year between the first time he saw him and the second. But when Sam came into his life rather violently and left the same way, Nick hadn't really been expecting to ever see him again. This time was supposed to be different. This time whatever unstable grounds of friendship that been laid between them made it all feel like things should be different.

Though Nick sort of hated hoping that Sam, with his easy smile and welcoming laugh, had been incarcerated… it was better than the alternative.

Spring got there before Sam did. Green things blooming and the sun bearing down in ways that promised a hell of a summer in a few weeks. There was honestly too much to do at work to worry about misplaced friends.

Nick was still in the ER, so he wasn't typically the person who got to sign the paperwork when paramedics brought in people who'd past the point of medical help. Those went straight downstairs to the morgue. Nothing out of the ordinary there. On an average day, unless something particularly exciting had happened to the corpse before it came in, Nick had no concept of how many dead people were checked in to the hospital.

And in hospitals you don't want terribly exciting. A good span of boring cases were sort of what you prayed for, if you were the praying sort.

Things _had_ gotten exciting though.

One of the coroners, Jessie, was an old highschool friend of Nick (problems of coming from a remote part of Texas and never really leaving) had been telling stories to him during their smoke break.

"I tell you what, somethin's wrong out here." She was puffing grey clouds up into the dusky colored sky. "We even had a state trooper coming in and talkin' to us today."

Nick was chewing gum, quietly popping it and frowning, because he'd been hearing rumors. They didn't usually get state police into their little town. "Yeah?"

"Last body came in from the state park. You should have seen it, Nick. He was a mess."

"I'm kind of glad that I didn't." Oddly, Nick didn't have much of a stomach for gore.

"Throat torn open." Jessie made a face. "Trooper had the balls to ask me if it could have been a coyote."

"Could it have been?"

She leveled him with a long look. Her grey eyes flat, "wasn't a fucking coyote."

He took her word for it.

Later that night, right about that time that he should have been finishing his paperwork and clocking out, when everything should have been easy and finite, a mess came in the doors.

Paramedics were just barely keeping her together. Young gal, couldn't have been more than thirteen. Mess of dark hair and skin grey from blood loss. Her throat was torn open like you'd see from a wild animal attack and though her eyes were red rimmed and wild with pain and fear she'd obviously slipped into some kind of shock.

Not particularly surprising.

The on call surgeon had made quick work of the nicked artery in her throat and about an hour later she was comfortably sedated, relatively cleaned, under a trauma blanket and half way through a blood transfusion. She had no ID on her, and apparently the paramedics had picked her up because she'd been wandering down the middle of the street a few blocks away, screaming her head off.

Where as Nick really wanted to go home (quite some time ago actually) he found it hard to leave.

One of the relief nurses, who'd shown up around the time of their little Jane Doe, gently took him by the elbow and started to lead him towards the locker room.

"You should have gone home almost two hours ago, Nick. You look dead on your feet."

"No, I was off at midnight," he shook off his kind of stunned, numb feeling, looking up at one of the wall clocks. "Oh…" he'd lost a bit of time it seemed. "Yeah. Can you text me when we find her parents?"

They weren't friends or anything. But everyone here had everyone else's number just in case.

"You were the On Call when she came in. I'm sure the police will be calling you before any of us can."

"The police?" Nick hesitated in the doorway to the back room, turning to frown at her.

"Yeah. They just got in and are waiting to get the ok to go in an talk to her. They think whatever happened to her might have something to do with those bodies that have been turning up all month."

He'd been a little too caught up in the whole happening to really think beyond the _what next_ factor. To him it honestly looked every inch like a horrifying dog bite. The skin all torn. Ragged teeth marks. The only thing that hadn't fit what he'd come to expect from an animal attack were the dark purple bruises around her wrists and the seemingly lack of any other injuries...

If this girl had anything to do with the four other bodies that had come in with open throats over the last few weeks, Nick could fully understand why the police might have a few questions.

"Should I stick around?"

"Nah. Go home. You look dead on your feet. We'll tell 'em where to find you if they have any questions."

It sounded like a good plan to him. The tired from the day had sort of started to take over and it was never a good sign when he'd been standing in one place staring at a wall long enough that the nurses had to remind him to go home.

He slept like the dead the night. Heavy enough that he missed three phone calls, all of which were more baffling than the next when he finally woke up in the early afternoon.

The first one went along the lines of, "Hello, Nick Shurley. This is officer Bennett down at the S.A.P.D. Can you come by the station this morning at your earliest convenience? We have a few questions about a Jane Doe that came through the ER when you were on shift last night."

Which wasn't too unexpected, though there was a bit of odd urgency in the officer's tone.

Call number two started with such a painfully familiar voice that it physically hurt something deep down in his chest.

"Hey, Nick. It's me… I'm in your part of the world again… figured I should actually give you a call before showing up for once." Sam sort of trailed off. And that was it. The call died. Leaving Nick to look shiftily around the room, wondering if the call had been a warning or a question-

but then the third call started playing and overrode his mild concern with something much stronger.

"Nick, it's Jessie. The hell happened here last night? People are saying a kid came in with her throat torn out during your shift. Apparently she broke a cop's arm and ran out of the building. I've been here for a few hours, and the medics just brought her back in, straight to my office, in a body bag. Someone cut her damn head off. Shit's really hit the fan. We've got troopers all over the damn place. Kyle's out for spring break with his kids in Florida or something and I could really… just… Nick, I know it's not your department and it's your day off. But we were lab partners, for Christ's sake. I pulled that frog's stomach out when you got all woozy and you owe me." She audibly swallowed. "The kid's the same age as my little girl and I need a bit of help getting the paperwork together for the troopers."

Even if her assistant Kyle hadn't been out of town, or if they hadn't been lab partners their senior year in high school, and even if Jessie's daughter didn't call him uncle, Nick would have gone in.

The whole thing was too weird to say no to.

Weird enough to put Sam's call on the back burner without much of a second thought.

It made running into the other man later that day… awkward.

Awkward and just confusing.


	15. Chapter 15

The dead little girl way laying on the autopsy table between them. Resting in two uneven parts. Waiting naked beneath a privacy sheet for an autopsy that felt a little redundant.

You did an autopsy when you needed to find cause of death.

The fact that her head way sitting three inches higher than it needed to be was enough cause of death for Nick.

But Jessie hadn't called him in because she needed help with figuring out that part.

She had her back to the body, holding her paperwork in it's neatly labeled manilla folder, pen poised and ready. "Alright, Nick. Go."

 _Go_

Such a simple request.

So easy.

Nothing about this was easy.

Nick dealt with living people and not the alternative for reasons. He liked to make a difference. He liked knowing that he was helping.

With a steady hand he pulled back the sheet. There was no way to help this kid at this point. What was done was done. Jessie though. He could help her. Help her put together the identification forms for the police to match against missing persons reports.

Analytically, he started listing off everything that he saw. "Adolescent female. Looks to be between ten and fourteen-"

"That's a big age range for a kid, Nick."

"I'm not an expert on kids. I've got brothers, not sisters. Ok? She's small. No breasts yet. What the hell else do do want?"

"Fine. Fine. Keep going."

"Possibly hispanic and caucasian? Black shoulder length hair… greenish eyes." He took a slow breath, grateful for the medical mask, even if the body hadn't started to smell yet. "There's some dark bruising along her left cheek. Looks recent. She's got an open wound on her throat, teeth marks from a possible animal attack. Eight stitches that we put in her last night… and then, you know, the head is severed."

"Where?"

"In the neck area?"

Jessie sighed and half turned. "Please don't be difficult."

Nick poked at the gash with a gloved finger. "Around the C4 and C5 area? It's not a clean cut. It wasn't a single blow… I'm seeing multiple grooves in the bones so it was probably a big sharp-ish thing that hit her a few times before it went all the way through."

"God." Jessie's shoulders slumped.

"... did she really break an officer's arm last night?" Looking down at the tiny kid, Nick couldn't reconcile the deed with the person.

"I'm just taking the night nurses' word for it. It's not like they showed me the surveillance videos or anything." She scribbled some more notes on her pages, same as she'd been doing the whole time that Nick had been speaking. "See if you can't find any birthmarks, scars, weird moles, braces, just whatever we can give the police out in the hall. I'm sure she's got parents somewhere who'd like some closure."

Nick nodded even if she couldn't see it. He checked the kid over a bit more thoroughly. Found bruises on her knuckles that he hadn't seen last night. A small scar on the underside of her chin, probably from falling off a bike or something years ago. She didn't seem to have braces or fillings or anything quite like that- though as he took his thumb from her lip to let her mouth settle back closed something about her teeth looked very… off.

"... and?" Jessie half glanced over her shoulder when Nick had grown too quiet.

"And her gums are weird."

"Weird how?"

"Weird, weird." Nick pressed into her gumline with his index finger. There were small, evenly spaced indentations running parallel to her teeth. They looked like cuts? but there was no blood or signs of healing tissue.

"You are the least helpful assistant, Nick." She turned around, squaring her shoulders. "This is why we got C on our lab final."

He rolled his eyes at the old argument that they'd been having for forever. "No, we got a C because you got in a fight with Ashley and put a frog liver in her bra during class."

"It was down the front of her shirt not her bra." She elbowed him out of the way, leaning over to look at the abnormality he'd found. "And she had it coming… what the hell is this?"

"Lacerations of some kind-" Nick's train of thought left without him, because as he watched Jessie pressing her fingers along the child's gums something that looked very much like a second row of teeth slid out. Sharp teeth.

Jessie pulled her hands back and shook her head. Her mouth was hidden behind her surgical mask, but at the same time it was obvious that she was frowning something fierce. "What the hell?"

What the hell indeed.

Nick didn't have a chance to give his best guess though, because the exam room doors were pushed open by men in suits.

"Excuse me-" Jessie turned on them. "We're in the middle of an autopsy. You boys will have to wait outside."

And first impressions were everything, and very difficult to shake afterwards, so Nick often found himself hating his gut response to meeting new people. For the duration of almost two seconds all he could do is look at the taller of the two men and imagine what it might feel like to push his dark grey suit jacket off those broad shoulders while kissing the long line of his neck.

Around the third second it suddenly hit Nick like a sack of bricks that he knew this man.

Knew them both actually.

Dean just really remained not Nick's type, and thus hadn't been given much of a glance when they walked in the room. Sam though, he had always been pretty high on Nick's wish list. Sam in a suit, who'd let his hair grow shaggy, was positively unfair.

"I'm agent Rhoads, this is agent DuBrow." Dean actually produced a badge from the inner pocket of his jacket and held it up for Jessie's inspection. "We're with the FBI. We had a few questions about a couple bodies that have come through here in the past few weeks."

It was good that Jessie was a professional and just kept going in the face of the sudden intrusion, because Nick didn't have two thoughts to rub together at this point.

She sized the two men up- which was almost comical seeing as she was the proper height to headbutt either of them in the center of their chests. "When did the state troopers hand this off to the feds?"

"Orders just came in, mam."

"Just came in?" She rolled her eyes, taking hold of the edge of the sheet and covering up the little girl. Giving the kid some measure of privacy. "Fine. I'm still getting my report together though. You boys want to step out for another hour or so?"

"We actually came to talk about the _other_ bodies. If you wouldn't mind, maybe we could go into your office for a bit, Ms …" And Dean gave her such a smile as he waited for her to supply a name. It was a smile that probably would have sent a lesser woman tittering.

Jessie was not a lesser woman however. " _Doctor_ Castillo." She pulled her mask off and looked Dean over like she was debating the right angle she would need to drop kick him.

"Doctor." Dean's smile didn't so much as waiver. He held a hand out in the direction of the doors, asking her with a gesture to lead the way to her office. "If you don't mind. We'll make it quick."

The idea of Dean being alone with Jessie actually horrified Nick. Brought him to a certain level of terror that he finally remembered how to get his mouth to make words and to get his limbs to do that moving thing.

"Jessie, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Nick?" She raised a questioning brow at him. No worry on her face, just honest confusion.

"... _Nick_?" Sam and Dean spoke together and managed to match Jessie's confusion and raise the bar slightly.

And for the smallest moment, Nick got to feel a bit of what uncertainty was going around. Why would the brothers be so surprised? Had they somehow really not noticed the six foot tall blonde standing next to the corpse. But Nick didn't exactly look like himself right then. He looked every inch a medical examiner. Surgical mask, apron over his scrubs, gloves.

He pulled off his mask in a way that he hoped didn't come across as overly dramatic or anything. The intent was not a dramatic reveal, but to free himself up and get ready to start yelling at these idiots who were obviously up to nothing good.

"Oh hell." Dean rattled off a deep sigh.

"You weren't supposed to be in today." Sam said in a way that was by no means suspicious or anything at all. "We checked the schedule when we got here."

Jessie actually laughed. "Friends of yours, Nick?"

"No. No they are not." He was staring down Sam as hard as possible. He had no idea what they were here for. His mind could not begin to come up with an even remotely plausible reason for them being here in the hospital, playing dress up. "You need to get out of here, or I _will_ call security."

Dean looked frustrated, Sam looked nothing short of guilty.

Recovering faster from this wrench in their plans than his brother, Dean slid back into his easy smile. Turning to Jessie. "My partner is going to have a little chat with your associate and clear up a bit of misunderstanding. Why don't you and me take that little walk to your office while they sort things out." And, in sight and ear shot of everyone, he had the audacity to lean towards the short little coroner and stage whisper, " _they had a messy break up- but I still hold out hope of these two crazy kids getting back together_."

It was hard to tell who looked more shocked and upset by the world that Dean was building for them out of such easy lies. Nick and Sam exchanged uncomfortable looks while Jessie just laughed again. Whether or not she fully bought the outrageous lie, apparently it was more believable than Nick's outrage and threats over seeing these men.

"I'll be right back." She nudged her elbow into Nick's forearm. "Play nice with the suits." And then she left with Dean.

She actually left the room with Dean.

Nick watched the door swing closed, then looked back to Sam. "Fuck this. And fuck you." With every intention of actually finding hospital security right after he forcibly put some distance between his friend and Dean, he turned to leave.

Some manner of protest from Sam was expected. And yet, when Nick found himself suddenly grabbed by the shoulders and slammed into the wall beside the door, he let out a sharp startled noise. He'd never really expected to find himself sandwiched between a wall and the entirety of Sam. It caught him off guard.

It was a lot of man, and very close, and very nice smelling.

"You're impersonating a federal agent." Nick spoke through his teeth.

"Yes, but it's for a good reason." Sam still had a death grip on Nick's shoulders, not giving him so much as a breath of wiggle room. There would probably be bruising in the shape of his big, dumb hands.

"There's not a fucking _good_ reason. You do not come into my work and lie to the god damned county coroner to get information on corpses. Now get off of me so I can get her the hell away from your brother."

"Look, honest, he just has some questions about the bodies. Dean's not going to hurt her."

"I'm not worried about Jessie. I'm worried what she's going to do to your brother."

Sam blinked once, hard. "She's five foot nothing and probably weighs a hundred pounds."

"She's been married four times, and each one of them was in law enforcement."

With a bit of a chuckle, but by no means loosening his grip, Sam shook his head. "They aren't going to get married in the next ten minutes, Nick."

"Let go of me."

"Are you still going to go call security?"

"Fuck you. What do you think?"

Sam sighed, bowing his head just a bit. Obviously frustrated. "We're just here to ask a few questions and then we'll leave. I promise. We aren't looking for trouble, Nick."

"You _are_ trouble. And I never should have gotten involved with you in the first place, but I sure as hell am not going to lie to the police for you."

"Do you see me asking you to lie to the police here? No. We just need to know about the bodies that have been showing up and then we're gone."

"Let go of me."

"Only if you promise you're not going to start shouting for the cops."

"The _real_ cops?" Nick struggled slightly, trying to figure out if he was even capable of getting away should Sam decide not to let go.

"Nick, I really don't want to have to tell the cops why you know I'm not FBI. I still owe you from the last two times… and I like you. But Dean's pretty vindictive."

How Nick knew these men was by stealing medical supplies for them. It wouldn't exactly make him look innocent.

Looking up at the other man, at his recognisable and yet in that moment completely unfamiliar face, Nick felt quietly furious. "Are you actually threatening me?"

"No. No. I wouldn't threaten you. I'm just… it's just a warning."

"You want a warning? You can fucking let go of me and take a real big step back- or I will drag you down by your Walmart tie and give you the roughest, gayest kiss that I can manage and you will have to live the rest of your life knowing that it could have avoided, but you were too caught up in playing big scary criminal to back down."

For the briefest second, Sam kept on not letting go. Maybe he thought that Nick was bluffing.

He was wrong of course.

About the time at Nick slid a hand between them, grabbed a fistfull Sam's tie and started dragging the taller man down the few inches that separated them, Sam seemed to catch on that this was serious business.

So Sam let go.

Which was slightly unfortunate, because Nick would have gladly bit this man around the mouth. He would have taken immense pleasure in it, in fact.

With room between them to breath Nick found that the wall behind him hadn't been trapping him so much as supporting him and he readily let it hold his weight as he watched Sam pace the floor restlessly.

"This isn't going how it was supposed to." He muttered as he pushed some of that too long hair from his face.

"Your yeti hunt going badly this time?"

"Vampire, actually." Sam's shoulders hunched as he sighed softly.

Nick had been joking, trying to ease himself out of the anger that still gripped his chest tightly. But it was good to know that they could still just play completely crazy. Just like old times. "Oh. Vampires. Right. Texas is just full of 'em."

A small nod to the covered corpse on the table and Sam shrugged. "Not full, but yeah. You've got a few."

"... that is a ten year old girl. Not a dracula." Nick said flatly, even as the image of her odd second set of teeth clamored it's way back to the front of his thoughts. And very suddenly Nick felt unsure of everything.

Every fucking thing.

Now, very obviously. Nick was awful at reading Sam. The man's expressions were still alien and unexpected. It didn't seem to be a mutual feeling.

Sam watched every flicker of uncertainty that Nick was fighting to hide, and just nodded. "You saw her teeth, didn't you."

Nick didn't answer. It wasn't actually a question.

Sam nodded again. Seeming to get all he needed from Nick's silence.

"Vampires."

Clarification through repetition.

It wasn't helping.

Sort of at a loss for what to say, Nick looked around the room. Examining the flat white walls and the medical cabinets and equipment. The lights. Everything other than the other two bodies in the room. "... aren't vampires supposed to have… like… the two fang thing?"

"That's movie vampires. Real ones are more… well. Like that."

"Preteen girls with four rows of teeth?"

"Normal looking." Sam kind of smiled though it looked a little forced. "And the extra teeth are only only the top. So just the tree rows."

The whole world felt wrong and kind of frightening for just a few seconds as Nick tried to figure out just what the hell to do.

Same as he always did.

He was a doctor after all.

Which meant that, yes, sometimes strange and inexplicable things happened. Thing that he would have sworn were impossible. Too terrible, or strange, or unexpectedly wonderful.

You never expect a parent capable of intentionally poisoning their child. Just like you never expect someone who'd suffered horrifying spinal damage to relearn how to walk… just like you don't expect a vampire to show up in the morgue.

But still they happened and he had to accept them.

It didn't mean that he had to suspend all scepticism though.

"So you and your brother are here looking for vampires?"

"We're hoping it's just the one." Sam was good at shrugging, even while he studied Nick and his new best friend the wall. "We got in last night, heard that there had been maybe four bodies turn up over the last month."

"Five counting this one… but she's the first to be decapitated. She came in last night with her neck torn open. They found her early this morning like this." Nick sort of pointed, his hand bouncing a little as he noted first the body, and then the head beneath the sheet.

"Yeah," Sam glanced sideways at the small lump on the table. "It would have been easier if the vampire had just killed her last night instead of letting her turn."

More exceptions to reality as he knew it needed to be made, but Nick could follow along. "So vampire has been snacking and leaving bodies all over town. Caught this one, didn't finish his meal and decided to just cut her head off when she got out of the hospital?"

Sam turned away from the table, glancing out the little windows that were face high in the swinging doors. "She was killed by a hunter… cutting the head off is the quickest way to deal with a vampire."

Those words took a moment to sink in. They just sounded so wrong that Nick's brain refused to process at first. "Sam. Are you a 'hunter'?"

With the smallest of nods, Sam kept watching the hall outside.

Nick looked between this body of a child to the man whose life he'd saved. Who he'd shared a bed with. Who he drank with. Who he'd stayed up late telling childhood stories to over Thanksgiving break. Who he'd been dumb enough to have kissed.

"... are you the hunter who... _dealt_ with this vampire?"

"No," Sam's single word answer was firm and oddly, for some strange reason, Nick believed him.

That belief didn't leave a lot of other options though.

"So your brother did it."

Without a word Sam kept watching out the window.

Nick swore. That anger in his chest had turned sour and he had to walk himself to the far side of the room, as far from the other man as he could get. It wasn't a large room, but the distance helped.

"Hey. I know what it sounds like-"

"You do not know what it fucking sounds like, you lunatic." Nick let his head fall back for a second. Looking to the ceiling like it might give him strength. "You're all mixed up in god knows what. You have a wallet full of fake IDs. You're impersonating a federal officer. And now you're telling me that you and your brother also decapitate children. I can't- god, I can't fucking do this, Sam."

"She wasn't a kid anymore. She was a monster. She was the same thing that had bit her, and she would have gone on to kill who knows how many people."

"I need you to get out."

"Nick, you saw her teeth. Maybe you even saw the other bodies that have come though. Something just like her did that. I've seen what can happen. I've seen pretty awful fucking things. This was a mercy." Sam had the audacity to point to the dead kid.

"Out." He felt sick. "Out of this room. Out of my hospital. I don't want to see you coming around anymore. Not you, not your fucking murderer of a brother."

"Nick,"

"I should have let you bleed to death." And Nick honestly didn't know if he meant that. He felt it. Felt those words with every fiber of himself. But feeling and meaning were two different things. "I'll give you five minutes before I call the cops."

They had been something like friends, and Nick could give the other man time to leave if nothing else.

Sam took the offer. Bless his depraved, criminal heart.

He left without a word. Though the look on his face spoke volumes.

With surprising calmness, Nick found a little rolly stool beneath the work desk and set himself down. Though he wasn't sure how long he got to just sit there in silence with his thoughts chasing each other, it couldn't have been all that long. Jessie came in with an undefinable sort of smile.

"Well those FEDs sure had somewhere to get in a hurry." She scrutinised Nick slumped on his stool. "So… you and that tall one used to date?"

"We didn't date."

"Just a beau from the clubs back when you were stripping your way through med school?"

The normalcy of the old joke actually brought a smile to Nick's face. It was the same thing that she'd been teasing him about since they were nineteen and he told her he was going all the way out to the east coast for school- when they both knew that he didn't have that kind of money. "We've been over this. You know I don't have the hips or the rhythm to strip. I used this mouth of mine to pay the bills. Paid 'em real well."

"Yeah. I wouldn't mind paying some bills with tall dark and handsome… but I'm happy to settle for the shorter one."

"The shorter one's a real peach."

"We're getting drinks tomorrow night."

"Damn it, Jessie. Really?" He knew her too well. It wasn't the least bit comforting.

She shrugged and pulled on a clean set of gloves. "Come on. Let's get this over with. We need to finish up the ID." Maybe she forgot about the wicked teeth on the kid. Maybe Dean, and the prospect of drinks and probably sex with him, was really just that distracting. Who knew? Jessie just picked up her paperwork and her pen and resumed the autopsy like nothing at all strange was going on here.

And Nick knew that he could find a nice distraction for the police officers that were still waiting somewhere outside. He knew that he'd actually made the sharp decision to call them and he should stick to it.

Surely those five minutes were up.

Instead he came back to the table and helped Jessie finish things.

After all, Sam and him had been something like friends.

And Nick had to believe that the universe would sort itself out without his intervention- because he really just couldn't bring himself to do it.

.:.

Oddly, for once, the whole mess did sort of figure itself out. Though not at all in a way that Nick had anticipated.

He ended up staying for almost a full shift. Even after he finished things with Jessie and they got the kid in a bag and in a drawer to wait for someone to come and identify her. He should have gone home as soon as the autopsy was done and handed over to the state troopers, but the nursing staff in the ER was a bit short handed and ' _would he mind stepping in for just a few hours?'._ He didn't mind. After all, being overwhelmed at work was certainly better than going home and having time to think.

The last thing he wanted right now was time to think.

Things like vampires and hunters and men named Sam had no place at all in his life and it was best to not spend too much time thinking about any of them.

By the time the next shift came in and Nick was given a firm thank you and told to leave, his mind had reached a quiet kind of whiteness. Too tired and overworked to worry about everything there was for him to worry about.

He bummed a cigarette off one of the paramedics who was hanging out in the parking lot between calls.

It was glowing brightly between his fingers and filling his lungs with a nostalgic and comforting kind of burn before he even reached the edge of the parking lot where he'd left his car so many hours before.

His first cigarette in nearly two years.

And it was amazing.

The staff parking lot was usually pretty quiet most of the time. Not a whole lot of coming and going. So it was a bit strange for Nick to see someone else out here with him, weaving between the rows of cars. Someone small. Head of dark hair hardly running above the metal roofs.

She rounded a Jeep and looked up at Nick from about ten feet away. A child. A girl somewhere between ten and fourteen with shoulder length dark hair and greenish eyes.

Nick would have dropped his cigarette if the paper hadn't stuck to his suddenly very dry lips.

He didn't believe in ghosts.

He didn't believe in a whole lot of things.

But he'd spent about two hours over this kid's body today, reciting injuries and freckles like there was going to be a test on it later. Ghost or not, here she was. All the same except for being alive and in one piece.

"Hey, old man." Her voice didn't sound like he'd imagined it would. "Can I get a smoke?"

It took a bit too long for him to find his voice. "I-I've only got the one… also, you're way too young to be smoking."

"Come on now." She smiled at him. Even from two car lengths away, he could see that there was something very wrong that smile. "My sister came in her last night, an' I heard you were real nice to her. Kind old doctor with kind old eyes. She said she probably would have made it too, if you hadn't just left her… so where's some of that niceness of yours, Doc?"

Sister?

Nick looked long and hard at this kid. Her hair might have been a little shorter. Maybe a freckle or two our of place.

Not just sisters. Twins.

And Nick laughed. A startled kind of bark of a laugh, because knowing that their Jane Doe was a twin should really help the police to figure out who she was. It wasn't something really worth laughing over, but fear had way of making emotions get muddled and come out a bit strangely.

"I came back for her… I hate the thought of her locked up in a freezer. She never liked small spaces."

Everything about this was unsettling. "Come on. I can take you inside. We've got some nice officers around who would love to know your names… they could help you find your way home."

She laughed. Head thrown back and happy. God, but she had far too many teeth.

"I'm not going home. And I'm not talking to any officers. But I will take my sister… and maybe a snack before I go. She used to bring me food. For months she's been bringing me food- but now she's gone, and I'm very, very hungry."

"The, uh, cafeteria is closed for the night, but they've got some vending machines on the second floor that have a really good selection of chips. I could give you a few bucks."

She didn't answer him. Didn't take him up on his offer, so much as just suddenly ran at him. Her bare feet hardly touching the pavement. Nick didn't really have time to get out of the way. Even if he had, he'd never been all that much of a runner. She crashed into him like a little seventy five pound car. Knocking the wind out of him. She probably would have knocked him down too if her momentum had hit him a bit higher. Or if there hadn't been a car right behind him to catch his weight. Or if she actually knew how to fight at all.

Granted, she was significantly stronger than a preteen girl had any right to be. But she seemed to have no idea where to put her hands or feet. While Nick did his best to fend off someone half his height she did her best to climb him while pinning his arms.

She didn't make much headway with either of her goals, however Nick found himself sort of overwhelmed with trying to keep her from biting his chest and arms to do really anything more than repeatedly twist free of her grip and push her away.

It was like a slightly drunken fight with his younger brother except there was a significantly higher chance of getting bitten.

He probably could have kept up the ridiculous brawl if she hadn't managed to break his arm. He felt more than heard the sharp snap below his elbow and the overwhelming pain was all the leverage she needed to drag him to his knees. The street lights made beautiful star burst patterns as the kid slammed his head into the side of the nearest car.

There were a few strange moments, maybe seconds, maybe minutes where the whole parking lot just sort of faded out of existence. Swallowed up by the light and the pain and the ringing between his ears.

When life came back into focus he saw blood. Mostly blood. It was all down the front of his scrubs, on his pants where his long legs were sprawled out over the pavement, the pavement itself.

There was also blood on Sam.

But the fact that Sam was crouching right beside him was sort of a secondary point of interest after the blood. Maybe even further down on the list actually, considering Nick still couldn't hear past the ringing in his ears, and his arm felt very much still broken.

The parking lot was swaying as Nick was hauled to his feet by the other man. It gave Nick a nice view of the carnage. The still nameless kid was lying dead between two cars- now all he could see of her were her legs, but they definitely weren't moving, and Dean was standing over her, wiping what could only be described as a machete on his pant leg.

Nothing about this imagery spoke of good things and pleasant times.

"Get the doc inside. His arm looks... wrong." The shorter brother sounded like he was yelling from the far end of a tunnel. Distorted and odd. "I'll take care of the body."

"They're going to ask about the blood." Sam didn't sound much closer, despite the fact that his mouth was only inches from Nick's ear.

"Can't exactly hose him off, Sammy. So either strip the good doctor and try to explain why he's naked, or just tell 'em you don't know whose blood it is."

"It's not mine?" Nick hardly could hear his own voice, and it sort of made him worried at just how hard his head had been hit.

"No." Sam's hand was so big and solid against the small of his back. "I don't think so. Come on. Let's get you inside. I think your arm is broken."

"I think so too." He looked to the other man, but Sam stubbornly wouldn't stay in focus. "I might have a concussion as well."

The blurry version of Sam sort of smiled.

It was a really nice smile.

.:.

There were a lot of questions for Nick while the on call nurses fussed over him and wrapped a cast around his lower left arm. He wished that he had answers. He wished he still had Sam beside him to help clarify things. But the other man had sort of drifted off in all the hubbub, leaving Nick to fend for himself against his well meaning co workers.

Eventually they let him go home. Sent him off with a bottle of painkillers after making him promise not to take any until he got home because the man obviously wasn't going to need any more impairment to his driving at this point.

It was almost dawn when he pulled up to his driveway. The barest hint of sunlight in the eastern sky. If the Winchester's car had been parked anywhere conspicuously on his street Nick didn't happen to see it. The men sitting in his livingroom however were rather difficult to miss.

"No." Nick almost started to cry. He felt actual tears welling up.

"Hey, Doc." Dean didn't get to his feet. He looked far too comfortable stretched out over Nick's couch to be bothered to move. "Nice cast. Do we get to sign it?"

"No." Most other words had fled Nick's vocabulary. He stood there, looking at these brothers who had quite possibly saved his life and just… and just…

He toed off his shoes and shook his head. It was about all he could manage. That and shuffling towards the garage so he could dump his bloodied scrubs into the garbage. No amount of washing was going to save them. Nick sort of felt the same way.

It wasn't until he realized that he was standing in the middle of the kitchen in his boxers, a cast, and the dry flaking blood of a little girl, struggling for almost five minutes to open a damn childproof bottle of pills, that he'd passed a very crucial mile marker in his life.

Without a word, Sam came into the kitchen, a soft, worried look in his eyes as he got a glass of water for Nick then took the pill bottle and opened it with an easy twist.

Two pills down and Nick got a bit lost just watching Sam.

"I told you to go."

"Yeah… I know."

"Thanks for ignoring me."

There were few things that Sam did better than smile. It was a really, really nice smile. "Did you end up having a concussion too?"

"Just a small one." He admitted. "But the dizziness is gone and they said I'm good to sleep."

"You might want to get cleaned up first."

Nick looked down at himself. He really was a mess. "I'm not having a good day." He also wasn't in any kind of state, mentally or physically to take a shower. "I'll worry about it in the morning."

"Ok." More of that smile followed and Sam nodded towards the other side of the house. "Go on. Get some sleep. You look like hell."

Truer words had never been spoken. "Gee, you really know how to sweet talk a guy."

"I'll be here when you wake up." Sam seemed to know all the right things to say. "I think maybe we can try having that talk again."

"Yeah, no. I don't want that."

Sam took him by the shoulders, so much more gently than he'd done hours ago. His fingers fit along the bruises though he'd left and the ache was oddly grounding. "We'll talk. We've got a lot to talk about."


	16. Chapter 16

"Look, I'm not saying that I don't appreciate what you're doing here," Nick was making such a strong effort to keep his tone even and emotionless. "But unless you are willing to make a big change to our relationship, I'm going to need you to get the hell out of my bathroom."

Sam chuckled, ripping off one last piece of tape from the roll before he smoothed it down over the plastic bag that he'd been securing over Nick's cast.

Fixing the other man with a flat look, Nick reclaimed his arm. He'd been tired of holding it up for Sam anyhow. "I'm not saying that I would mind the help washing my hair, but it's not exactly a decision that you're going to be able to come back from with your dignity intact."

"Never had all that much dignity to begin with." Sam grinned. "But I trust you to be able to get through a shower on your own without supervision."

"Unlike taping up my arm?" Nick looked at the other man's handy work. "That part I couldn't do on my own?"

"We both know that there was no way that you were going to manage that by yourself."

"I could have."

"No. You couldn't." And there was such tenderness to Sam's smile and words.

Nick felt his lip curl in a grimace. "I don't like being taken care of."

"I can see that." Still, Sam smiled.

Smug bastard.

He left Nick to his shower though. Without so much as a wink or an inappropriate comment.

Smug gentleman bastard.

And if it wouldn't have crossed whatever straight man boundries that the two of them were testing, Nick probably would have called for help at some point because scrubbing dried blood off himself with only one hand was more challenging than he'd anticipated.

The process started off as frustrating and quickly devolved into something much worse.

Being helpless today was one thing. Being stuck home from work for an unset amount of time was just down right depressing. Nick wouldn't be able to go back to work for a few weeks. Not until the fracture in his wrist had healed up enough for the cast to come off.

This sucked.

Plain and simple.

Nick worked his way through it though. It's not like he had a whole lot of other options.

Whereas he'd needed Sam's help getting his cast waterproofed, getting the plastic off was another matter. And it was a real shame that everything couldn't be as easy. Then again, if everything was as simple as peeling off half a roll of tape and a plastic bag, Nick might die of boredom.

Little chance of that with Winchesters arguing in his livingroom. He could hear them when he came out of the shower. Could hear their raised voices the whole time he struggled to pull on a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt with only the use of his one good hand.

He debated just staying in his room while the sharp words were being exchanged, but all the movement and struggling that he'd just gone through had left his wrist aching in an oddly rhythmic way. So out he opened his bedroom door and all those grumpy words died out almost the exact same moment.

It made Nick smile. He liked exercising what small power he still had.

And right then, he really didn't have a lot of sway over anything in his life. He needed to take what joy he could. That small sliver of happiness lasted nearly a whole minute.

Apparently, out of habit, or safety, Sam had put the cap back on the bottle of painkillers.

It was an unwelcome sight.

Nick was left to struggle with the safety catch. Wrestling with the bit of plastic to the point of frustration followed by actually throwing the bottle at the counter top. Which did nothing at all to open the lid, but did make him feel marginally better.

Seemingly summoned by the clatter of plastic, Dean came in (which was the least desired of the two options for help) with an unnecessary bit of swagger and a smile. "Hey, Doc. How you holding up?"

"Obviously I'm just fantastic. The world is full of lies and monsters, and I've lost the use of my second favorite arm." He lightly shook his cast in Dean's direction.

"Yeah, broken bones are a real bitch." He snagged the pills from the counter and popped the cap off like he did it for a living. "I've had my fair share over the years."

"Somehow that's not even slightly surprising." Nick took the bottle and shook a couple of pills into his hand. "Honestly, in light of your chosen profession, it's surprising you're not dead, or at least missing some fingers."

"Just lucky, I guess." And then, for some strange reason, Dean actually poured some hot coffee from the pot and handed it over.

Nick took the offering with an air of suspicion. "Why?"

"Feel bad about having to get you involved in all of this." He shrugged, looking ever so slightly uncomfortable. "And… well… Sam said you wanted to turn us in yesterday. But you didn't. So it's a thanks," he nodded to Nick's coffee. "And we're even now."

Despite that he wanted to argue about the fact that coffee hardly made them anything close to even- it was very possible that these Winchesters had saved his life last night.

So… maybe they were even now.

Maybe that would mean that they could stop meeting like this. Over bodily injury.

It couldn't be good for their health.

Nick sipped on his black coffee and tried not to make too much eye contact with Dean, because there really wasn't much of anything more for them to say that wouldn't lead them to one of their inevitable arguments about nothing. He found himself glancing towards the hall that lead to the living room, wondering where their mediator was hiding.

"Sam went out to the car to grab something." Apparently Dean could read minds, and knew how to answer the questions that hadn't been asked. "Told me to be nice to you until he gets back."

Oh great. If there was one thing that Nick liked less than Dean it was being alone with Dean.

"So… you hunt vampires for a living?"

Dean snorted softly and shook his head. "Sometimes vampires. Sometimes demons, ghosts, witches, wraiths, banshees, and the list goes on. We try to keep busy."

"I don't know if you're joking or not… I like to assume that you're joking."

"Dude, you have no idea."

Nick really didn't.

It seemed though that Sam planned to remedy this. He came back into the house with a ratty leather bound book held almost reverently in his hands.

"Oh," Nick eyed the man over the rim of his mug. "It's a bit early for a bedtime story, don't you think? I haven't even finished breakfast yet."

Sam's grin was all teeth and dimples and damnable charm. "Come sit at the table with me?"

"For the record," Dean rumbled in something between a whisper and a sing-song, "I think this is a bad idea, Sammy. The good doctor isn't so good under pressure."

Nick wasn't entirely sure on the sentiment, but he sure felt like he'd just been insulted, which meant that a rebuttal was in order. "Fuck you?"

And it was odd just how uncharming Dean's laugh really was when compared to his brother's. "I got to watch you lose a slap fight to a ten year old girl last night, man."

Coffee was set aside and Nick squared his shoulders, because these were fighting words. "That was _not_ a normal little girl,"

"You're a doctor. You're maybe even a good doctor." He amended with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But you have no business in this business, Doc."

"Dean-" Sam said his big brother's name like a warning.

And Dean raised his hands up like he was being read his rites. "Hey, man. I like him too. That's why I don't think he deserves this." Palms still turned towards the sky, he saw himself out of the room. Mumbling negative thoughts that were lost to the growing distance between them.

"He does know that I'm not joining the family or anything, right?" Nick kept his eyes on the sliver of the front room that he could see from where he stood. Watching the still muttering man plop himself down onto the couch and turn on the TV.

Sam was already heading towards the table, thumbing open his awful looking book. "He knows we're not going to pack you up and take you with us when we leave." He seemed to find the page he was searching for, looking up at Nick with a small smile. "You're too tall to fit in the trunk anyhow."

With coffee in hand and what he hoped was an unimpressed look on his face, Nick came to the table. Against his better judgement he took the seat beside Sam. "So… my pills are starting to kick in, and I'm feeling fuzzy. Tell me about the world's saddest book before I'm too far gone and fall back asleep."

"Not too good with painkillers?" Sam was watching him curiously.

"Most stuff I'm ok with. But a few years back I got my wisdom teeth pulled and they prescribed me something called Narco. The on call last night remembered the incident, and how loopy the pills made me and she thought she'd have a bit of fun when she wrote up my prescription."

Sam's smile came back, just a little hook to the edge of his lips, "you seemed ok last night."

"Because I went to sleep before they really kicked in." He reached over and rapped a knuckle on the edge of Sam's book. "Go for it. Tell me your scary stories before I get foggy headed and start giggling."

"... ok," and Sam looked a bit uncertain, but also slightly amused. "This here is my dad's journal. He started keeping it after he got involved in the family business."

"Got _involved_?"

Sam's eyebrows dipped a little lower as he fought a frown. "A demon killed my mom and sort of burned down the house…. so Dad got involved."

It was a bad beginning to a worse story, and Sam told it all like a professor. The actual horror, the odd, and strange, and unbelievable monster nonsense of it all laid out like a college lecture. Somehow the fact that Nick felt like he should be taking notes sort of undercut what should have been some nightmare inducing facts.

Unfortunately, the majority of these 'facts' seemed to come in the form of stories of Sam's youth. Not the man's whole life story or anything. A few awful highlights that were followed by a very thorough list of things that Nick needed to keep an eye open for.

It was a lot to take in. Most of it wholly unbelievable, even in the face of what had happened last night. "And what exactly are you expecting me to do if I do see someone with black eyes?"

Dean chimed in from down the hall, "kick 'em in the teeth and run like hell, Doc."

"Do not kick them in the teeth." Sam corrected softly.

The stunning horror of knowing what actually lurked in the dark edges of night had passed a certain line a few minutes ago. A man can only be stunned and paranoid for so long before it just becomes funny. "I can't kick that high anyhow. I'd end up pulling a hamstring or something."

"Nick," Sam seemed to be trying his best to not encourage this humor. Apparently it was serious business.

"I mean, yeah. It's all well and good knowing that the world is terrifying and going to kill me. But, Sam- I'm in my thirties, and last night was the first time I was faced with one of the legions of darkness."

"The first time that you know of-"

"Look. Knowledge is power, and I appreciate the heads up. I really do. But I can't live a life laying salt on my windowsills each night, and second guessing every shifty eyed weirdo that comes into the ER, worrying that they might be a spooky monster that wants to eat my face. When in all likelihood it's going to be another thirty years before anything else scary comes along."

"I know it seems like a once in a lifetime thing. I've got to tell you though, we've been through this part of Texas probably six times that can I remember. Hunting some monster or another, and just because you haven't been looking for them, Nick, doesn't mean that they aren't around."

Nick ran a hand over his face. The pills he had taken earlier made him feel only remotely attached to his limbs, which probably meant that he needed to go lay down. "And just what the hell are we hoping that I'm going to do with this knowledge now that you've opened my eyes?"

"Hoping that next time something seems off, that you'll give me a call. Maybe we can get here before a little girl comes into your ER with her throat torn out."

A good cause if Nick had ever heard one.

A cause like that he could get behind.

Even if it meant that he'd have to accept even half of the ridiculous nonsense that Sam had been so determined to impart on him.

He slept off the better part of the afternoon, wakeing around the time that his pills started to wear off, that growingly familiar ache forcing him to get out of bed. With great forsite, he'd left the cap off the bottle of pills that morning, and it made his self medication all that much easier. If it wasn't for the gnawing pain in his gut he would have just taken himself right back to bed. Pills on an empty stomach never did anyone any good, and his breakfast coffee didn't actually count as a meal- no matter how much he wanted it to.

What to eat though when you are missing an arm that usually did half the work of preparing meals? Nick opened the fridge to rummage for anything that wasn't going to require too much effort, and was baffled to see a fair amount of food that he had never purchased.

"... Sam?"

He didn't have to raise his voice all that much to be heard, and the other man popped his head into the room with an expectant expression.

"Why are you and your brother stocking my fridge?" He had his suspicions. "How long exactly do you boys plan on staying here?"

"Just tonight, if you're ok with it. I'm already looking for another case."

" _Another case._ " He huffed. "You make it sound like a legitimate job or something."

"Well… it kind of is." Sam smiled and came over, looking into the open fridge as well. "Even if we don't get paid, and no one says thank you, no health benefits, not time off, no sick days."

He made it sound so glamorous.

"So," Nick found himself smiling, "it's basically an internship then, is what you're telling me."

Sam grinned. "Basically, yeah."

"My job doesn't seem so bad by comparison." He took a little basket of strawberries from the fridge. "What with all the fruits and vegetables?"

With a bit of a pout Sam folded his arms. "You're going to be laid up for a bit. I thought it would be nice if you had something healthy to eat that wasn't going to require a lot of preparation."

Which was thoughtful enough that it made Nick feel all warm and squishy inside.

Eww

He took his strawberries to the living room once he saw that it wasn't occupied by Dean. The couch was warm when he sat down- which meant that he'd just stolen Sam's seat, and Nick hid a little grin while he ate.

The other man joined him, choosing to park himself on the recliner after dragging his laptop over from the coffee table.

"Your brother go out to the car to get something?"

"Uh, no." Sam glanced up from the little screen. "He went out for drinks a little bit ago with your coroner friend."

Nick sighed, letting his head fall back for a moment. "It's a bit early in the day to get sloshed, isn't it?"

With a look that was at least half apologetic, Sam shrugged tightly. "I- I don't think he plans on getting drunk with her… and it's after dinner."

Startled, Nick looked around for a clock. It was almost six. "It's those damn pills." He ran a hand over his face. He'd only taken one from the bottle this time. Even if it wasn't going to erase the pain in his wrist, it would take the edge off- and hopefully not knock him out again. "How long ago did he leave?"

" 'bout fifteen minutes."

"Ah," Nick nodded knowingly before eating a strawberry.

Sam watched him with a very curious expression. " _Ah_ what?"

How to put it gently? "I'm just going to come out and say it, your brother looks like the type that puts out on the first date. So he's probably going to be gone for about two hours, if he doesn't have any problems with screwing around in the back seat of his car."

With an uncomfortable sort of laugh, Sam grimaced.

"See, Jessie has a kid, so they can't go back to her place. Your brother's _place_ is here for the night and I'm just assuming that he wouldn't be ballsy enough to bring her here. That leaves the back seat of the car… and I know Jessie. So, drinks, a bit of pretending that sex isn't the goal, driving somewhere quiet, sex, then maybe some sitting close and talking if your brother has any class. And that means about two hours."

Sam took this all in, and gave a calculated, " _gross_."

Nick nodded. Because, yes. But it also meant that he'd have a bit of alone time with Sam and just Sam. Which should have been an unsettling prospect in light of yesterday's… everything. But still. Nick remained a man without any measure of self preservation, and the idea of spending some quality time with this monster hunter who didn't have enough common sense to take care of his own damn self, but readily inconvenience himself with the care of others, well… it sounded like a nice way to spend the evening.

He held out the basket of strawberries like a gift, one that Sam happily took.

Unfortunately, as nice as it would have been to have just had a quiet sort of night together, Nick found that he couldn't just let it happen. Not without a few misplaced words. "You know, as much as you like to over apologize, I didn't hear anything from you about last night."

Strawberry halfway to his mouth, Sam paused, frowning. "... for coming back after you told me to leave...?"

"For leaving hand shaped bruises in my shoulders."

Sam winced, instantly looking all kinds of guilty.

"And I like being man handled as much as the next guy- but seriously. You're kind of scary. You know that?"

The guilt spread from his face through his whole body. Sam's shoulders hunching up and his big hands tucking awkwardly into his lap as he did a surprising job of making himself somehow slightly smaller. "I _am_ really sorry about that. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Hey, like I said. That's not the part that I minded. I just wasn't expecting it from someone who comes off as a giant puppy."

His guilty look turned into a mildly offended pout. "Puppy?"

" _Giant_ puppy," Nick reminded. "That has also pulled a gun on me and has punched me while sleeping…" And Nick realized that he'd been lying to himself to help rationalise his odd feelings for this man here. "Maybe I just wanted to ignore those parts because the gentle giant act is more appealing."

And puppy was the perfect description for Sam. He had such a sheepish, guilty expression sitting there on his chair, holding his strawberry like a safety blanket. A blanket that wasn't really bringing any comfort. Then again- it _was_ only a strawberry.

"It's…" Sam sighed softly and let his idea trail off.

And now it was Nick's turn to feel a bit guilty. "Though… despite how much I don't actually know you, and how much I still don't like you on account of how complicated my life has been since I met you. I'm more inclined to believe that the stone cold son of a bitch is the part that you're playing up. You worry too much to really be as mean as you try to come off."

That got the smallest ghost of a smile from Sam. "I do try my hardest."

"Yeah, but then you buy me strawberries because you're worried I won't be eating healthy." Nick held one up to help make his point.

"Someone's got to take care of you," and because Sam really was some kind of oversized doofus, he gently bumped his own uneaten berry into Nick's like they were toasting.

And Nick demonstrated some amazing restraint and didn't crawl over the couch and into Sam's lap. He was actually rather proud of his self discipline. It did unfortunately leave him with not much else to do except eat his very light dinner and watch Sam smile awkwardly at him before returning to his laptop.

"So… where will your next case call you to, oh big strong hunter?"

It had been a few minutes since either of them had spoke and Nick's question seemed to startle the other man. Sam suddenly looking up with an bewildered, questioning sort of smile.

"Probably New Mexico."

"... because of all the aliens?"

"No." He laughed, shaking his head as his hair fell into his eyes. "There's no such thing as aliens. But there have been three suicides in a small town. All of them happy retirees. Seems a bit strange, so we'll go check it out."

Nick found himself nodding, not really sure what you say to something like that. So he watched Sam closing his laptop and looking around for the next thing to do.

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" Sam finally offered to the awkward silence.

"Sure?"

"Any preference?" Sam asked, seemingly happy for something to do as he scooped up the TV remote.

"Nah, dealer's choice. I'll probably doze off halfway through it."

And Sam hesitated with the remote half raised, the thing looking oddly small in his hands. "Oh… right. The pain killers. Well, I'll probably be gone again before you wake up."

"Oh…" Nick nodded. He was good at nodding. It bought him time to worry about how to reply to news like that.

"I mean, Dean should be in a pretty good mood when he gets in. It's generally the best time to get back on the road."

"Oh," Nick said again, because variety in responses was for the weak.

"And… since I don't know when the next time I'll get to see you again is, I think I'd rather just stay up and talk… if you don't mind."

And Nick didn't mind.

Didn't mind at all.

Only, just like last time he had such thoughts, he found himself alone in his bed come morning, with the deafening quiet of his empty house his only company.


	17. Chapter 17

For some reason Nick had thought that after the whole vampire incident Sam would call more often. To check in on the state of things. To check in on Nick.

Something like that.

And yes, it was a foolish thing to just assume that everything would suddenly be different. He was fully aware of just how helplessly stupid he really could be when faced with the force of nature that was Sam Winchester.

He chose to do his best and not dwell.

Sure, Nick could have been proactive in their friendship (or whatever the hell it was), and been the one to call first- but that reeked of a certain level of loneliness that he didn't want to cop up to.

And it's not like Nick had nothing else to do with his life. He wasn't sitting at home pining away for months on end. He had a job. He even had a few friends at aforementioned job. And on top of that he also had a couple brothers to try and avoid on a semi monthly basis.

That last one didn't always work out as planned and a mid summer barbeque at Gabriel's house ended with Nick being set up on a date with his brother's girlfriend's friend. Her name was Abby, she was a personal assistant to a man out in Dallas, had red hair, legs for days, and a sense of humor almost as wicked as her mouth.

Nick's favorite thing about her was the fact that she lived in the same town that she worked. Nearly half way across the state. It meant that he got to see her every few weeks for some light hearted arguing followed by a bit of whole hearted bedpost shaking. It was a great arrangement for the few months that they had together before Abby's boss transferred to the New York office and took his assistant with him.

He sort of wished that he was a bit more sad to tell her goodbye. But he'd miss the easy access to an arguing partner more than he'd actually miss her. They hadn't had all that much in common in the first place anyways. Just a mutual need for distraction.

If nothing else though, a week after he'd kissed her goodbye at the airport, he found himself at an oddly lonely sort of juncture. It wasn't that he necessarily needed a 'girlfriend' so much as he just realized how much better he felt when he regularly had someone else to talk to outside of work.

So, because there was much logic in it, Nick called up his favorite person to talk to.

Sam didn't answer of course.

But Nick could leave a message.

"Hey… haven't heard from you in forever. Just wanted to make sure that you didn't get eaten up by dragons or anything." That was it. It wasn't a long message. Or, hell, even a good message. Still a message though.

And that night when Nick got off work he was rewarded by his awkward attempt at friendship with the message light on his phone winking saucily at him.

"Hey, it's me… you're probably at work. Um… I'm doin' alright. Out in Vancouver right now… dragons aren't real. And if things go ok tonight and I'm still alive in the morning I'll give you another call."

Now, the prospect of a morning phone call, even from Sam, was not something that sounded even remotely awesome. Even so, when his phone went off in the early hours between nine and ten AM, he rolled half out of bed, scrambling to answer the call.

"Yeah?"

Such a warm laugh greeted him. "God, you sound like hell, Nick."

"Gee thanks." He yawned and pulled his blankets back up around his shoulders. "So you didn't die last night I take it."

"Mmn," Sam sort of mumbled, sounding just as tired as Nick felt. "Actually I did. 'm a ghost now. Sorry about it."

"And you still return phone calls? How responsible of you."

"That's what they call me. Sam the responsible ghost."

Somewhere in the distance, just far enough from the phone to pick up some distortion, Dean could be heard to say with much enthusiasm, "fucking go to sleep, dude."

"I should let you go," Sam whispered apologetically to Nick.

Probably. It didn't mean that he had to like it though. "It was good to hear your voice-" and that didn't sound right. "I mean... hear from you… it was good to hear from you."

"I knew what you meant."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… is it ok if I call you back again in a few hours? Maybe we can catch up?"

"I can be ok with that… goodnight, Sam." He whispered into his phone despite the fact that it was daylight out.

" 'night, Nick."

Such a short call.

It still was one of the nicest conversations that Nick had had in months.

.:.

"So… a curse?" He shook his head, smiling as he poured himself a bowl of afternoon cereal. "What are the rules on that one?"

Sam hmmd softly on his side of the phone. "Depends on the curse I guess? This one was a death curse. She'd been sort of an earth loving old woman who gardened a lot-"

"She was a witch." Dean butted in just loud enough to carry over the line.

"She was _not_ a witch." Sam said sternly. "It was all herbs and crystals and that sort of thing." Apparently there was a difference? "Anyways, she had some fairly awful grandchildren who wanted her money. They poisoned her, she cursed them… can't really say that they didn't have it coming."

Nick took his bowl of cereal to the table and settled down, amused by this whole nonsensical story. "And you broke the curse and saved the day?"

"Eh?" Sam voiced a shrug. "It wasn't really killing anyone, just a few small car fires when no one was in their very expensive cars. We sorted it out, but like I said, they sort of had it coming. They _did_ kill their grandma."

The idea that Sam was executing any kind of moral judgement on other people was sort of laughable- but Nick kept it to himself and took a big bite of food to keep himself from saying something argumentative.

"I think we're headed back to the states now. The car's not really meant for driving in the snow anyhow." In the pause that Sam left the sound of traffic could be heard. Which meant that they were probably on the road right then.

"You know… I hear it's nice and warm in-" _don't say Texas_ _it would sound far too needy_ , "Las Vegas." Nick winced inwardly.

Sam laughed and his voice dropped low as he tried to keep the conversation between just them, "Dean's actually not allowed in Vegas."

"Like hell I am. That's just your rule, man." Oddly his brother seemed to hear him just fine.

"He's got a bit of a gambling problem." Sam confided in a whisper.

"It's not a problem if you're winning, Sammy." Dean said firmly.

Nick was grinning at his phone.

Yes, he hated most people- however, sometimes exceptions could be made for certain, charming men who seemed well skilled at making him laugh when he didn't want to.

"Nick…" Sam seemed to hesitate. "Are you eating or something? There's a really weird noise on your end."

He looked into his half empty bowl and considered lying to preserve some dignity. "Lucky Charms," but he prefered honesty whenever possible.

"That's… " and the other man laughed softly. "That's a great choice there."

"Hey, I'm an adult. And it says right on the box that it's part of a balanced breakfast." He would not be made to feel guilty for eating marshmallow cereal.

"God, you and Dean are so alike sometimes."

Through his own offended noises, he could hear Dean making some of the same.

"He's eating Lucky Charms for dinner." Came Sam's somewhat muffled explanation to his brother.

"It's a late lunch." Nick protested.

It didn't seem to make a difference to Sam what time of day it was- distantly he could hear the other brother defending his meal though. Because _this is America and a full grown man has a right to eat fucking Lucky Charms if he wants. It's in the constitution_.

So it kind of made it ok?

Nick had never really wanted to agree on anything with the older Winchester. The fact that they felt the same about breakfast foods somehow didn't bode well for the rest of Nick's life choices.

Amidst the bickering up in Canada, Nick was able to make out the words, "I bet -warm out there- tell him we're - see- and his hot friend-" which kind of went together to make a troubling handful of implications.

Nick's spoon clattered noisily as he sort of dropped it into the bowl.

Obviously Sam's receiver was hurriedly covered up, because suddenly all the sounds coming through were garbled and muffled. It gave Nick an uncomfortable amount of time to look at his phone and feel enough anticipation to make him nauseous.

Perhaps sugary cereal was not the best of choices.

When Sam came back on it was with a heavy sigh. "This is none of my business- but Dean wants to know if your coroner friend mentioned him."

 _Ah_

That was most definitely a handful of conversations that Nick had never wanted to relive. "Jessie? Let's, um… we'll just say that she wouldn't mind seeing him again." Which was the most delicate way that he could think of to put it.

Jessie was a friend of his, and more specifically a female friend of his. It meant that he didn't feel right telling another man that she'd been moony eyed over Dean for about a week, and had kept alluding to something very interesting that he'd done with his tongue

-and Nick just couldn't even handle it.

The many months passing had not managed to dull the horror.

Not at all.

He didn't want his mind poisoned with such unwelcome imagery.

Luckily, Sam saved him from dwelling too long by giving him one hell of a distracting offer. "Nick, you think it might be ok if we stopped by to say hi about a week from now? Even if no one's hurt for once?"

As always, NO was an option.

And, as always, it was not an option that Nick chose to take.

It was very possible that Nick was physically incapable of telling that man no.

He even had the better part of three weeks to think over the various ways that he should have said no. That easy, short answer would have saved him from weeks worth of anxiety every time he heard a car driving past his house. They'd said they would be by in a couple of days, and although it was obviously a lie, it did nothing at all to ease the anticipation that any day now would see those two jackasses at Nick's door.

Well, any _night_ seemed a bit more accurate in any case.

And that felt more natural for the brothers anyways. The fact that they let themselves in to Nick's house while he was going to sleep was very fitting to everything that they'd ever done up until this point.

There Nick was, just laying in bed, warm and comfortable, half asleep, when he heard the front door opening. Now, his first thought was not that the Winchesters had finally bothered to come around weeks later than they'd threatened. His first thought was that it was either a burglar, or his brother Gabriel.

Nick kept a baseball bat under his bed in case of either situation.

It was a nice, solid weight in his hands as he got to his feet and carefully peered around his partially open bedroom door. Backlit in his front room, with the street light streaming in through the big window, were two broad shouldered men. Tall men. Holding very solid looking duffle bags.

Burglars didn't usually come into houses with pre filled suitcases.

And Gabriel could never be mistaken for anyone quite as tall.

"Oh hell." He lowered the bat and turned on the hallway light so he could see better. "What do you bastards want?"

Sam's grin was tired. The almost black bruising along his neck and jaw did nothing the soften his appearance.

Dean wasn't much better. Dried blood around his nose and only god knew what clinging darkly to his clothes like tar.

"Sorry we're late." Was Sam's not unexpected apology.

Against his better judgement, Nick came down the hall to meet them. "Sorry you're late? Not 'sorry for breaking and entering'?"

Dean was tossing his rather heavy looking bag down beside the door. "We didn't want to wake you by knocking, Doc." And then, for some insane reason, he closed the distance between them and gave Nick what could only be described as an aggressive hug.

A couple sharp smacks on the back, their chests together and the chill of the night bleeding off of Dean like the antithesis of a fever. It was honestly the most uncomfortable that Nick had felt in recent memory.

Then, all of a sudden, the reason for the embrace became painful obvious.

Dean smelled like he'd been rolling in corpses.

And now, Nick did too.

It was awesome.

Just awesome.

The sticky blackness was smeared over his tshirt and it smelled awful enough to make him gag.

Giving him some space, Dean stepped back and grinned with all of his teeth. Wild and amused. "Good to see you, Doc. It's been too long."

Nick looked down at himself, caught somewhere between laughing and punching the other man right in his smug face.

"Fuck you." Nick settled somewhere between the two feelings. "What the hell is this?" He gestured to the mess on his shirt that would probably have to be burned.

Still wearing that shit eating grin, Dean shrugged out of his god awful smelling coat. "Zombie puke."

"That's… that's not a thing." Nick looked back down at himself, hesitating. But surely, that wasn't a real thing.

Sam lightly shoved his brother out of the way. "Go get a shower, Dean. If I have to smell you any longer I'm going to lose it."

The offending brother didn't even ask permission to use the facilities. He just laughed and walked off down the hall like he owned the place.

Nick would have protested to the intrusion of his home- but he really, really wanted to not smell Dean any more. So he didn't object. He just sighed as dramatically as he could and looked at Sam for sympathy.

"You're going to want to change out of that shirt before it soaks through to your skin. It's a lingering stink. I'm not sure if the car's going to ever be the same. I know Dean won't be."

"What did you guys do on your way here?"

With one of those shrugs that he was oh so good at, Sam set his own bag down. "Found someone in Wichita who thought it would be a good idea to keep a couple of zombies around to help out around the house."

Nick started back towards his room and clean clothes. He asked as he left the other man behind. "Are we talking about George Romero kind of zombies- or are they actually more like the the vampires and just kind of disappointing?"

"They don't really meet the _Night of the Living Dead_ expectations, if that's what you're asking." Sam's answer came to him from down the hall.

A new shirt was pulled on and he walked the ruined one out to the garbage bin. He wasn't even going to try and wash it. That was not a smell that was going to come out.

Out of his peripheral, he was overly aware that Sam was following him. Keeping a polite distance, but ever drawing nearer.

"You boys been on the road long this time?" He drifted towards the fridge, wanting to be somewhat hospitable, despite the interruption to his sleep.

"We drove straight here from Kansas. So just a few hours." Sam loomed in the kitchen doorway in that painfully familiar way that he did.

Nick did his best to not gaze longingly at the man. Because, as tempting as it was, and as good as it was to see him again, Sam might not take to kindly to having another man making pretty eyes at him. "Can I get you some very late dinner?"

"I don't want to steal your food, Nick."

"You sure? I've had an extra box of Lucky Charms sitting on my shelf just waiting for you for weeks now."

Oh, and Sam's laugh was a welcome sound. "Gee, you shouldn't have."

"I'm just looking out for you." Nick got some milk from the fridge and the box of cereal from the cupboard. "Like I always do… Along those lines, wasn't there some kind of promise from you that no one was going to be hurt this time around?"

"We got smacked around a little, but nothing's broken."

Broken and hurt were not mutually exclusive. "Sit."

Sam looked around the kitchen from where he was still holding up the doorframe. "On the floor?"

"No, smart ass. On a chair, at the table." Nick was too tired to fight the smile he felt hooking up the edge of his lips.

Hesitantly, Sam followed directions. A little expectant, and very reluctant, he blinked up at Nick. "And then?"

"And then I look at that purdy face of yours and asses the damage." He didn't need to. Lord knew that Nick did not need to be this close to Sam. Any part of Sam. Face or other options. Still, he lightly pressed his fingertips along the other man's jaw line, dancing carefully over the dark bruises. "You look like you ran face first into a wall."

"Really?" Sam grinned beneath his hands. "That's a really good guess, but I was actually _thrown_ face first into a wall."

"Have you ever considered… I don't know… maybe finding yourself a job that doesn't involve living in a car, or getting throttled by made up monsters?"

"Zombies are not made up, Nick."

"Just because I saw a single vampire, one time, does not mean that I have to believe in _everything_." He pressed his thumb into the underside of Sam's chin, rocking the man's head back and examining the marks on his throat that looked very much like fingerprints. "Think a nice nine to five job might do you good."

Sam was watching him from his thrown back angle, eyes mostly closed as he gazed over the arch of his cheekbones. "I think I'd go crazy stuck in an office."

" mm, but you can pull off a suit. Alarmingly well."

"Yeah?" He kept smiling. His skin warm beneath Nick's curious hands. "You think so?"

"Shut up. I'm tired." This wasn't going well. "When I'm tired my mouth gets confused. Show me your arm."

"My arm?" Sam looked down at his jacket sleeves, and the dried blood around the cuffs. "Oh, that's nothing."

"Jacket off," tired or not, Nick wasn't really interested in the man's protests. "I'm the doctor here. I get to check your arms."

"You _get to_?"

"I've got probable cause." He tried a bit of police lingo that he'd learned from watching too much CSI with his brother last time he'd been to visit. "Arms. Get them out."

Some part of Sam had to love being fussed over. Despite his eye rolling as he stripped off his dirty jacket, and all the grumbling that he was perfectly fine and Nick was just worrying like a little old lady, there was a small smile that never left his mouth.

Not surprisingly, the blood that had dried over Sam's hands and arms was not 'nothing' as he'd tried to stress. Beneath a tightly tied scrap of what was once part of someone's plaid flannel shirt, was a rather nasty cut. The skin red and raw from the crook of his elbow to the soft and pale skin of his wrist.

"The hell is this?"

" 's nothing." Sam continued to protest even as Nick darted from the room to get some wet paper towels. "It's just a little cut. We needed some blood to break a magic circle. I'll be fine."

From the kitchen Nick felt something very like outrage at the other man's words. "Are you telling me that you did that to yourself."

Sam wasn't making eye contact when Nick stalked back into the room. "I was kind of in a hurry and my hand slipped. But it's not too deep, and I'll be fine." He repeated sullenly.

Without any measure of mercy, Nick scrubbed at the dried blood around the shallow, but rather meaningful gash. "Not, it's… it's not deep. You won't need stitches, but this is _not_ a little cut."

"I'm fine." Sam was a man made of lies.

"This is filthy. It's going to get infected." Nick bore his teeth for just a moment.

Despite the fact that under all that scrubbing, Sam's fingers would twitch and shift in involuntary signs of pain, he refused to show any sign of guilt or regret. "I was going to wash it later." His defences were starting to sound weaker though.

"Yeah. Later." Nick wasn't buying it. "See, now this is why I don't like you. I clocked out of work hours ago- and yet here you are. In my house. Just a mess. Knowing that I can't not take care of you."

"Nick," his free hand came up to catch both of Nick's. Stilling his efforts. "You don't have to play doctor with me. Not tonight. Nothing's broken… I'll be fine."

"Yeah, _this_ time."

That smile came back. Knowing, and so gentle despite how worn down he obviously was. "I worry about you too."

Nick pulled his hands back like he'd been touching a stove. Dirty paper towel clutched like a shield. "Why the hell would you worry about me?"

"Because we're friends." He said so simply. Like saying the sky is blue, or grass is green. Water is wet. And we're friends.

"God. You two." Dean apparently was out of the shower. Scrubbed clean and shiney and dressed in ick free clothing. "You could at least pretend not to be so gay for eachother. Have some dignity."

Which was almost definitely said in joking- because Dean was an ass, but couldn't know about Nick's terrible crush on his brother.

 _Almost_ definitely.

Sam grunted. Frowning and looking down at the scrubbed clean strip of skin down his arm. The contrast only made the cut look that much worse.

Nick threw his wet paper towel at Dean, hitting him square in the chest. It almost made them somewhat even for the filthy hug earlier.

"Gross, man." With a small damp mark on his otherwise clean shirt, Dean moved into the kitchen. No attempt what so ever to pick up the garbage thrown at him. "What do you have to eat around here?"


	18. Chapter 18

"Hold up. You're saying that this whole time you've had a second bedroom that you just never mentioned?" Dean's outrage was hardly restrained as he stood looking into the spare room as if it had made a personal insult to his mother.

"The house came with a second room. But up until a few weeks ago the bed in there was burried under a couple dozen boxes of junk. This just happens to be the first time you guys let me know ahead of time that you were coming… so I cleaned."

This news did nothing to placate the man. "You made me sleep on your tiny ass couch when you had a whole extra bed."

"You might still be on that couch. I'll let you and your brother rock-paper-scissors over who sleeps where."

Dean folded his arms over his chest, frowning. The short sleeved tshirt he wore did a nice job of showing off a lot of the same kind of awful bruising that his brother had.

It looked, in some ways, far worse than Sam's- and yet Nick found that he had no inclination to 'play doctor' with this man.

 _Mostly_ no inclination.

Despite his dislike of Dean, he was still hurt. And Nick was still a doctor.

"How bad is…" he waved distractedly at the damage he could see.

"It's fine." Dean let his arms drop, then looked a bit uncomfortable under the scrutiny and refolded them.

"Yeah that's what Sam said too, but I think he's lucky he didn't get a cracked jaw. And even without proper tests, I still feel comfortable saying that he's likely got a bruised esophagus. His voice is a bit rough and I don't think it's all just him being tired." And with Sam off taking his turn in the shower, he wasn't here to defend himself. Which meant that Nick could say just about anything that he wanted to about him without interruption. "The cut on his arm is shallow, but it still might leave a scar… there was actually gravel in it."

"Thanks for the brother check-up, Doc. But really, we just got a bit roughed up." He waved it off. "You worry too much."

"I'm just saying what I saw after he promised me he was 'fine'. And here you are, saying you're fine too, but you look like you were thrown at the same wall as your brother, and you're favoring your right side."

Dean heard the words being said to him and for once he didn't bristle up like usual. "It's fine, Doc. I do know what broken ribs feel like. This isn't it."

"I've no doubt that many things over the years have found reasons to try and crack you open like a walnut." Nick had entertained such feelings months back when he'd been tending to the man's shoulder. "I'd feel better if you let me look at it."

"Hey, I don't care if it would make you 'feel better', Doc. I don't have some weird crush on you like Sam does. I'm not interested in getting manhandled by you before bed."

Such an accusation gave Nick pause, and he felt that maybe he sort of managed to keep a fairly uninterested face. "If you have broken, or even fractured ribs you're going to be in a world of pain should you try to push yourself with any strenuous physical activity. Such as… oh, I don't know, like letting Jessie climb you like a tree."

Dean grinned. No shame. "She does know how to use those arms and legs of hers, doesn't she?"

"... I wouldn't know about that." Without permission, and mostly because he was disturbed by the unwanted information he'd just been supplied, he took rough hold of Dean around the midsection. His hands clamping down on either side of those tender ribs.

And to his credit, because there was no doubt that he could, Dean did not punch Nick. He did make a very strange noise as he twisted awkwardly in protest however. "Damn it. I'm fine."

Ignoring the sharp words of his unwilling patient, Nick pressed in his his left hand, using his right to brace Dean and keep him relatively still. "You are not fine-"

Maybe 'holler' was not quite the right word for the noise that Dean made in response to the prodding, but it was certainly a pained, injured sound of protest.

"Does it really hurt that bad?" Nick looked at the slightly shorter man, curiously.

If Sam under reacted to pain, Dean was definitely on the other end of the spectrum. Hamming up an injury which no doubt was causing him pain, but could in no way be half as debilitating as he was pretending. Face scrunched, mouth and eyes tight. "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that, Doc?"

"And you're a big baby when you get bumped up a bit and know crying about it will get you sympathy." Nick let him go. "Not broken, but you are bruised pretty bad. When you see Jessie tomorrow be sure to tell her you're injured. Only thing she likes better than a man with a badge is one who's been hurt in the line of duty. She'll treat you real good."

Even as Dean was tenderly rubbing along his ribs, he rediscovered his grin. All signs of pain gone from his face and forgotten. "Yeah? You think so?"

"Just promise me you won't at any point propose to her. We've known each other since high school. She's practically family, and I would take offence to you as an in law."

"Dude. Do I look like the marrying type?"

Nick chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't put a ring on it. But there's no accounting for taste."

Dean started laughing in answer, but there were no dimples to accompany it, so it felt like a waste.

Well, not a full waste.

Sam came out of the bathroom about that time, and graced his brother and Nick with a charmingly confused expression. "You two are laughing together… should I worry?"

"No," Nick swallowed down his smile, doing his best to present as a responsible adult. "We were just saying good night." He nodded towards Dean and looked back at Sam, with his shower wet hair still dripping, leaving little wet marks on the shoulders of his tshirt. Nick's mind went pleasantly blank for a few heart beats. "So… um… goodnight. Both of you…"

He retreated back to the safety of his room where he could not see, but could still hear the brothers argue over who would be getting the bed and who would be getting the couch for the night.

He laid himself down, wanting to find some sleep, now an hour after he'd first put himself to bed. There was something sort of lulling in hearing other people in the house. Just small sounds. Shuffling, slightly creaking floorboards, whispered voices. And strangely, after about fifteen restless minutes, a door opening.

Nick's door opening.

Rolling over and opening a tired eye, he realised that he could not venture a good guess as to which Winchester was looming in his dark doorway. Though by the skill at which the looming was taking place, he should have simply known that it was Sam.

"Hey," the intruder whispered.

"Hey, big boy." Nick rubbed a hand over his face as he pushed himself up onto an elbow. "You looking for an extra blanket or something?"

"Dean won the bed tonight."

"Sucks for you."

"Yeah," the dark shape that was Sam shifted from foot to foot. "I'm a bit too tall to fit on your couch."

"There's always the floor." Nick yawned. "I've got tons of floor for the taking."

"I was sort of wondering if maybe you still had half of a bed that no one's using…"

Nick kept on watching that looming shadow. Waiting for it to make more sense.

It didn't offer any more information.

Options could be weighed. Any decision carefully examined before any action was taken. At least that is what Nick should have done. But, true to form, he knew that deep down, 'no' was simply not an option. So why waste time debating with himself over what a terrible idea this was.

"Get your ass over here so I can get back to sleep." He edged himself from the center of the bed over to one side, reluctantly making room for the other man.

Sam crawled into bed like a little kid would. All awkward on his hands and knees, bouncing the bed way too much. The ridiculousness of it helped to ease some of the tension that Nick felt over the sudden proximity to of another body in his bed.

"So… three weeks late," Nick fought another yawn and settle back against his pillow. "Beat to hell, and already stealing my blankets. Remind me again why I let you in my house?"

Sheepishly, Sam stopped tugging the blankets to his side of the bed. Shifting and getting comfortable as he stretched his long frame out. "Because you like the company."

"That would only make sense if you were actually good company." Nick kept his tired eyes fixed on the ceiling shadows. Those steady, uneven lines in no way tempted him to do something dangerously homosexual. They were actually kind of soothing.

"I'm great company. What are you talking about?"

"You're a great pain in my neck is what you are."

Sam's elbow suddenly nudged his ribs. Two soft little bumps before going back to his own side of the bed. "You like it."

"No I don't."

Yes he did.

He really, really did.

.:.

Sam was long gone by the time that Nick woke. Which didn't surprise him, because in those first few, fuzzy moments of consciousness, he'd sort of forgotten that there had ever been anyone else there beside him to begin with. It was only when he slowly started to come around to being fully awake that he realised that he could smell coffee.

And hear someone moving around off down the hall.

He may have layed in bed for a bit longer than necessary, just sort of enjoying the fact that there was someone else here. It was such a simple thing. Really, kind of a dumb thing to be so happy about. Knowing that still did nothing to squash Nick's good mood.

The fact that Dean was the one in the kitchen making breakfast was… unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome.

Nick shrugged to himself and got down a clean mug.

Despite the fact that Dean looked racoon eyed and bleary, he nodded in way of greeting.

Pouring himself some breakfast, Nick nodded back. "See, now I would have beet money on you not being a morning person."

Dean yawned softly accompanied with an awful lot of blinking. "Nah. A couple hours of sleep a night is all I can manage."

"That's… really not a good plan." Nick felt that his words should be unnecessary. "Sleep deprivation can literally kill you."

"Yeah, well." He just shrugged it off, looking deep into his own cup of half drunk coffee. "Speaking of- how'd you guys sleep last night?"

They weren't friends, so the general inquiry about his health came off as a bit odd to Nick. "I slept fine. Can't speak for your brother though." And where the hell was the missing brother anyways?

"Really? Saw him leaving your room early this morning, so I sort of figured that you'd know one way or the other." Dean spoke so even, and calm, and flat.

It was terrifying.

The implication was terrifying.

Nothing about it boded well.

Suddenly drinking his coffee didn't interest Nick. And despite the fact that the only thing that currently sounded worth his time was putting some space between himself and the other man- Nick squared his shoulders and strung together words that he'd never anticipated needing. "Your brother and I aren't having sex."

Dean choked on his drink, face getting a bit red. "Fucking hell." His eyes had gone a little wild as he stared at Nick for a few breaths. "No one thinks you two are having sex."

Confusion tempered with self defensive fear made Nick a bit salty. "Then what the hell are we talking about?"

"How whenever he gets around you he gets all last-day-of-summer weird."

"Excuse me?"

Dean _sighed_ , gaze fixing on the far wall like the memory was written there for him. Just waiting. "We moved around all the time when we were kids. Longest we ever stayed in one place was a couple of months. We were in Massachusett summer after Sammy turned nine. He made friends with a kid who lived in the same apartment building as us. Any chance they got they were together. Riding bikes, playing Nintendo, sleep overs, watching R rated movies after parents went to bed. Just normal stuff that every other kid in the world gets to do, except my brother. For a bit he got to just be a kid like everyone else. And then," he shook his head. "And then Dad came back day before school started back up and Sammy had to say goodbye. I've never seen him so damn ...clingy… and then he met you."

What do you say to something like that? "And you think me and him are… what, staying up late playing Mario?"

"I don't know what the hell you two are doing in the middle of the night- and I really don't care. It's just weird to see him being all chummy with someone again. I didn't think that he'd be able to find another fucking bleeding heart like himself so easily."

Nick really had absolutely no idea how to respond to such accusations. He had a feeling that Dean was coming from a place that was partially brotherly affection and mostly sleep deprivation. It made him sentimental and rambly.

There was really only one thing for it. Deny everything. "We're not _chums_. We're barely acquaintances. And I'm not a bleeding heart. I'm a doctor, and I'm damn good at sewing you boys up when you've got holes in you."

"If you really think that, then you're even more of an ass than I thought." The look that Dean fixed him with was just as flat and emotionless as before.

Nick hated it. Hated feeling like a little kid who'd been called into the principal's office. Sullen, he leaned against the counter and nursed his coffee like it was a forty. "Um… where is your brother… you know, just speaking of?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "He's sleeping on the couch. He snuck out there early this morning so I wouldn't know that he'd spent the night in your room."

Oh.

Oh. Sam and Nick were apparently in trouble.

Which was unfair.

It hadn't been Nick's idea for Sam to come and steal his blankets.

And then, all of a sudden, he remembered that he didn't care what Dean thought. It was sort of freeing. "I think he just likes having someone to talk to." Back to his good mood, Nick felt a need to defend poor Sam who wasn't here to speak on his own behalf.

"God, you two are such girls." Dean rolled his eyes. "I bet you stayed up late doing each other's hair and talking about boys."

Actually they'd just slept. Sam had been out just minutes after his head had hit the pillow.

Nick grinned. "It was a good opportunity to work on my french braiding skills."

"You guys going to do your nails tonight?"

"Mani petties," Nick wiggled his fingers loosely around his mug. "You're welcome to join us, you know. We were going to rent a Tom Cruise movie from Blockbuster, give each other manicures, listen to the newest Back Street Boys CD I just got at the mall, and then maybe talk about our feelings."

Dean seemed to appreciate the slew of outdated references, grinning as he said apologetically, "tempting as that it, I've got plans with your Jessie later and I'm afraid that I'll be out _all_ night. You two crazy kids will have to have fun without me."

Eww.

And Nick felt protective of his friend, but he also knew that she could damn well take care of herself. "Just remember, you're hurt. Don't let her get too rough with you."

"Doc," and Dean spoke with the deepest sincerity in his voice. "I believe in always treating ladies right, and that means letting them do whatever the hell they want to me. And then... making them breakfast in the morning."

With a bit of horror, Nick realised that if he wasn't already ass over tit for Sam, he'd actually find Dean sort of charming… in a weird way.

A very, very weird way.

A way that was completely overshadowed by the fact that he was an insufferable bastard.

"I don't like you." He felt a need to point out.

"Right back at you." Dean said with a wink.

Nick took his coffee to the couch so he could sit on sleeping Sam's shins and harass someone who wouldn't retaliate.

.:.

They ended up spending the majority of the day on the couch doing... pretty much nothing at all. Oddly they occupied their time with Sam teaching him how to clean various guns, watching the Godfather trilogy, and arguing over whether American made or Japanese cars were better. And although Nick would never admit it, doing nothing important while sitting beside Sam was sort of the best way to spend an afternoon.

At least that was how he felt up until Dean left for his date.

Then there was the overwhelming knowledge that he wasn't just sitting on a couch with Sam. He was sitting in a house, alone with Sam. And Nick didn't feel that he had the best track record with being wholly alone with this man.

"Dinner?" He offered, listening to Dean's car driving away.

"Are we cooking or ordering out?" Sam set aside the concerningly large knife that he'd been sharpening.

And Nick liked the way that he'd said ' _we'._ Like it to the point of distraction. Sitting there stupidly with what he could only pray was a subdued smile.

Sam watched him with a strange, amused light to his eyes, "...ordering out then?"

"I'm not much of a cook if it's anything other than meat." Nick regretted his choice of words. They sounded strange the longer he thought about them.

"Me either." But Sam let it go without batting an eye, "I'm not much of a cook I mean. That's sort of Dean's thing. But, um… if you wanted to we can go to the store, get stuff for a salad. I make a mean apple walnut salad." Then he started laughing. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Though Nick was not sure what sort of look he was giving the other man- he was damn sure that whatever it was it was well deserved. "Because we don't use language like that in this house. Maybe back where you come from people eat that kind of garbage, but you will not bring it into my home."

Sam's hands came up in mock surrender as he laughed. "Alright, alright. I get it. No salad."

"Damn right, no salad."

"Aren't you a doctor though. Shouldn't you be worried about eating healthy?"

Nick leveled him with a steady look.

"Fine." He folded his hands back behind his head. Stupid elbows sticking out at odd angles. "What would you like for dinner then?"

They went to the grocery store. Mostly because it put them out in public where Nick would be less tempted to straddle his friend- and also because it let them both get what they each wanted for dinner. Sam got his blasphemous salad fixings, and Nick got himself a frozen pizza. It was an odd meal to share, but they were both happy and that's probably what actually counted.

They ate sitting across from eachother at the table. Relaxed and comfortable like they did this every night. It was a bit strange to Nick how easily it was for the two of them to just slip back into this odd partial friendship of theirs after hardly saying a word in nearly a year. Maybe Dean had been onto something that morning though. Perhaps this was a last-day-of-summer situation for both Sam and Nick. They had found a friend that they knew that they couldn't keep. It made their time together sort of liminal and finite. There seemed to be no reason to waste any of it being awkward and unfamiliar. They'd both sort of simultaneously and wordlessly decided to just jump in and pick right back up where they'd left off each time they came together.

"You sure you don't want any?" Nick asked as he pulled another piece of sausage from the top of his pizza.

"Seeing as I've just had to sit and witness you grossly dissecting your meal, topping by topping- I think I'll pass."

"There is nothing wrong with eating the toppings in order."

Sam chuckled around a bite of spinach. "Order?"

"From just ok, to best."

"And sausage is the best?"

"No, the cheese is the best." Nick would have thought that to be obvious.

Apparently not, and the comment caught Sam off guard, twisting his chuckle into a warm laugh.

"You want?" Nick couldn't help but smile as he held out a naked slice of pizza, indentations in the cheese where the former toppings once sat.

"Appreciate the offer, but still no."

"Well don't say I never gave you anything."

"Never anything I wanted." Still smiling around his salad, Sam just shook his head.

"Ouch," Nick lowered his half eaten slice, holding it over his heart and giving his best injured expression. "That really hurts, you know that? I do so much for you. I give and give and give. And this is the thanks I get. You insult my food."

"Says the man who made gagging noises while I put together my salad."

"Rabbit food." Nick corrected before taking a too big bite of pizza. "F'cking rabbit food." He mumbled with his mouth full.

It would have been more funny if Sam wasn't watching him how he was. That toothy smile of his fading to something soft and warm and… different.

"Nick?"

All those happy, content pizza feelings shrank in the uncertainty of the look he was being cornered with. "Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

A question which never went well for anyone involved. Especially not when it was asked in such an uncomfortably expectant way- as if even Sam didn't want to hear what happened next.

Nick felt his mouth form a tense line. Something had changed. He didn't know what it was, and didn't know how it was going to affect things. He just knew he didn't like it.

"I can't stop you, Big boy. Ask away."

"You said before that," Sam faltered, which was not a good sign. Then he shook his head and tried again from a different starting point. "Hm- I've been thinking about…" He looked deep into his salad bowl and shook his head. "Never mind. It's a stupid question."

"...ok?" Nick was good at letting it drop, especially if it was going to get weird otherwise.

"Thanks for letting us come bother you again." Sam took an entirely different route. "It's nice to have a quiet place to heal up for a few days."

"You do know that I'm not some sort of out patient B and B, right? It's not my habit to take in stray, broken men."

Sam's smile was a bit easier this time, "you're really good at it though."

"Shut up and eat your salad, you bruised mess of a man."

"It's not that bad."

"You look like you lost a fight with a wall." Nick huffed. "I don't think I've ever seen you healthy, well rested, and uninjured."

Small frown as Sam stirred the last few leafy bits of his dinner around the bowl. "Last time I came through- with the vampire thing."

"You were pretending to be an FBI agent and confessed to me that you'd helped kill a child. I wasn't really in a place to see you as a whole and functioning human. You were made of lies and violence."

Sam nodded, looking a little sullen, but he didn't argue. "How'd your arm heal up?" A nice change of topic.

And Nick was happy for it. He rolled up his sleeve, twisting his arm and wiggling his fingers. "Good as new… how'd your hip heal up?"

Sam half got out of his chair, thumb hooking into the top of his jeans as he tugged them down just enough to show the long line of his hip and a very small pink scar about the size of a thumb print. "Good as new." He sat back down and the peep show was over as suddenly as it had started. "I feel like you already asked me about it at some point though."

"Did I?" Nick found himself mumbling, his mind suddenly elsewhere.

"Maybe… to be honest, I'm not always sure what we've talked about. We need to stop having so many discussions when we're half asleep,"

"Or drunk." Nick didn't hesitate. That night was still a mystery to him and he had regrets. "Important talks should never be had over copious amounts of alcohol."

" _Copious_ ," and Sam's smile went a little crooked as he mocked the word. "Does that mean that we don't get a bit of an after dinner nightcap."

"Depends." Nick stuffed his last bite of pizza in his mouth, "are you trying to get in a better mood, or drunk."

Sam's shrug was not an answer.


	19. Chapter 19

No matter how hard he puzzled over it, or what angle he approached it from, Nick could not make sense of the mess that was his DVR. "What is wrong with your brother?"

Laughter was Sam's only answer. Now, he was three shots into an expensive bottle of whiskey, which accounted for the man-giggling.

Even still, Nick was rather unprepared and started laughing too. "I'm serious, Sam." He struggled to keep his voice even and serious. "Stop. Why is he recording shows on my TV?"

Sam rubbed a hand over his eyes as he grinned with those nice dimples of his. "He really likes his _Doctor Sexy_ show."

"It's not a show." Nick argued, tucking his legs up under him where he sat on the couch. "It's softcore daytime porn, set in a hospital."

"With slapping," the other man didn't hesitate to point out. "There's a lot of slapping."

"God. You watch it too."

He shook his head, unsteadily pouring another small glass of whisky for himself. "I do not. Not willingly. Sometimes though, we're stuck waiting in motels for a few days, and there isn't much to do other than watch daytime TV."

Instantly Nick was suspicious. "You like it as much as he does, don't you?"

Sam was laughing again, too much to give a proper answer other than another shake of his head. Even if he wasn't good and proper drunk, he was definitely soft around the edges. Lose and boneless in his movements. Happy.

"Is it the boots, or the long hair?" Nick pressed, waving vaguely at his queued up show list. "Or do you just have a thing for fake doctors?"

"Don't be like that, Nick." He reached over the gap, between where he sat on the recliner, towards the couch. Rapping his knuckles against Nick's arm. "Don't be jealous. You know that you'll always be my favorite real fake doctor."

He brushed the man's hand aside with mock disgust. "I am a real, _real_ doctor. Thank you very much. Went through eleven years of med school. Got myself an official looking piece of paper with my name on it, and my very own stethoscope, and everything."

"Yeah?" Sam's laughter stopped for a moment as his eyes went wide with interest.

"The hell, man. You are not going anywhere near my stethoscope. So don't even ask."

Which got Sam laughing all over again.

Nick had no idea that he had this sort of power over the other man.

Such great power and he was by no means ready for this kind of responsibility.

He had to make himself look away. The TV was a good, safe place. "Seriously though. How long you boys staying that he's recording shows to watch later?"

"Just a day or two." Sam promised, swallowing down his smile long enough to swallow down some more alcohol. "We don't want to impose."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Yeah. God forbid you wear out your welcome, like every other time you've barreled your way into my life."

"I'm really trying here." Sam touched his arm again.

Out of habit, Nick had to shrug it off once more- but he made a point to smile and hoped that the other man knew which action was more important. "Trying for what, big boy?"

"To not be a pain in the ass for once." He promised with one of those smiles of his.

"You know what? You, _you_ with your… you-ness, will always be a pain in my ass. I can sense it. Same for your brother and his hots for Doctor Sexy. Something is very wrong with the both of you."

"Don't let him hear you talking like that. Dean's very defensive of his sexuality."

Nick may have lightly snorted. "We all are. But most of us are at least willing to nod towards our exception. And if he was here, I'd say it to his face. Dude is gay for that phoney doctor. Gay as a choir boy."

This accusation seemed to cause Sam no end of joy and he laughed warm and unapologetically. Which seemed to surprise even himself and left Sam biting his lip as he tried to tone it back a few notches.

"We all have our exceptions," Nick mused, feeling rather distracted. But, seeing as he was watching Sam while saying such incriminating things, he felt a need to keep talking an effort to save even the smallest amount of face. "Mine happens to be David Bowie, which is significantly more respectable than your brother's choice in dancing partners. So I am allowed to be a bit judgemental about it."

Sam scrubbed the back of a hand over his mouth, still smiling. "You're telling me you've got the hots for Ziggy Stardust?"

"I'd argue that pretty much anyone with eyes or ears born in the last fifty years gets a bit hot under the collar at even the mention of David Bowie." Nick did his best to shrug with that same ease that Sam always did. "But what can I say? Maybe I've just got a thing for long haired, odd looking men."

Even if Sam seemed to have gotten the majority of his laughter under control, his grin hadn't left. "God, I forget sometimes how weird you are." He shook his head, long hair hiding his eyes. "I missed it."

"Oh stop," Nick flapped a hand dismissively as he systematically deleted the episodes that Dean had been saving up to watch. " _Stop_. You're making me blush."

Like the gentleman he was, in lieu of an apology, Sam poured Nick a second shot.

"Passive aggressively suggest as hard as you want, big boy. I'm not getting drunk with you." Nick still picked up the shot glass, though he left it neglected and sitting on the arm of the couch. "I still don't like you. And it worries me that I don't know what you did last time we drank. I just know I woke up to being involuntarily spooned."

"We're not doing that again?" He asked almost innocently.

"We are not doing that again." Nick promised as he shook his head, selecting an episode of some baking show that Gabe must have recorded last time he was over.

"Can't blame a man for trying."

Nick sort of hesitated, eyes slowly sliding sideways from the TV towards the man occupying his favorite chair. The very easy to blame man, occupying his favorite chair.

Sam was grinning at his own joke though. "What can I say? Maybe I've just got a thing for blondes."

Calmly, and with great care, never taking his eyes from Sam, Nick leaned over and took the man's drink from him. "No more for you."

Even if Sam didn't fight to keep the small glass, he still protested. "Hey, now. I'm not drunk."

"Didn't say you were drunk. Said that you didn't get any more." He set the glass onto the coffee table, far enough that Sam would have to actually extend some real effort to get it. "My house, my rules."

Because if Sam wanted to relax and loosen up, then good. Goal achieved. But if he was hoping to slide back into that 'way too much to drink last night, how did we get here this morning' sort of situation, then Nick was going to have to give it a hard pass. No more for either of them. Nick knew himself well enough to know that if he wasn't drinking too much on his own and saying something stupid and irrevocable to Sam- then it would definitely be him taking advantage of a drunk Sam who was too friendly and flirty for his own good.

He'd always had the best of intentions with this man. Since the night they met. Only a few morally grey, but absolutely best intentions.

Sam's laugh and that inexcusable grin made Nick want to make exceptions.

"Watch the nice contestants make their cupcakes," Nick instructed uneasily. "And stop undressing me with your eyes. You won't like what you see."

Despite the fact that Sam winked at Nick, he settled back into his chair without too much trouble.

The man was a menace.

An unholy menace.

And Nick was starting to feel like he didn't have all that much fight left in him.

Two episodes into the cupcake contest show, with quite a few side comments from the men about nothing at all important, time enough had passed for Sam's eyes to clear. Time for Nick to talk himself out of at least a handful of very bad choices before settling on a lesser misstep.

"I lied to you." He said without any lead up.

Sam blinked and looked around the room as if he didn't know where the voice had even come from.

"It was the second time you came and tried to ruin my life… about a year ago?"

Curious and a little uncertain, Sam was watching him. "...ok,"

"A year and a half maybe now."

"Does the time frame really matter to the story?"

"No," Nick frowned, sort of bracing himself because he suddenly didn't want to finish this line of thought, but going back would be a bit difficult. And besides, it was the sort of confession that would keep the other man from all this winking, and joke flirting, and sleeping beside him. All things that were pushing at the boundaries of acceptable friendship practices. "I guess it doesn't really matter _when_. It's just been bothering me for a long while is all."

It looked like it was going to bother Sam too. The man had nothing to say, he just waited. So expectant.

Nick braced himself, squaring his shoulders, even if his legs were still tucked up beneath him in an oddly defendable position. "I'm not gay."

With a confused sort of smile, Sam tilted his head, "...you lied about being gay?"

"What did I just say? No. I'm _not_ gay." It was as frustrating as talking to Gabe. "I just wanted to reestablish this fact before continuing."

Sam didn't wholly look like he was buying it, but he nodded for Nick to go on.

Unfortunately, going on seemed like an increasingly worse plan. Nick just had to remind himself that it would go a long way to getting Sam back to a safe distance where there would be less opportunities for Nick to want to do so many bad things that would inevitably lead to ruin.

"I'd told you that I'd never had sex with a man. That was a bit of a lie." He absently scratched at the center of his chest, sort of distracting himself. "Two men actually. Though with the first one there was no kissing or really touching or anything like that. He was a good friend in med school, who kept getting into fights with his girlfriend. Every time she broke up with him we'd have a few drinks and talk about what a bitch she was, a few more drinks and then it was his dick and my mouth- but according to him there was nothing gay about it. Because, you know, no kissing or anything. I'm not proud of our arrangement. Or the fact that it took me almost two years to realize that he was always going to get back together with her and that he meant a hell of a lot more to me than I was ever going to mean to him."

The pause that followed was meant to be a space for Sam to weigh in. To say or do something that would establish a bit of safe, healthy distance between the two of them. He didn't though, because Sam could never do anything right or normal.

He just waited with a damnably sincere expression.

Great.

"The other one was a doctor I met during my residency. He was a real bastard. No patience. Completely unforgiving. Sarcastic as hell. Painfully smart. And I had it so bad for him. He noticed, and after I'd finished my residency and before I came back here to Texas, he asked me over for drinks one night to celebrate getting my license and everything. We had sex on his couch- and in the morning he asked me to help him clean up, because his wife had hopped an early flight back home and he had to go pick her up from the airport…" Nick shrugged. Neither of these were stories that he'd ever told anyone- and saying them out loud for the first time just seemed surreal. It had been so many years ago that it no longer felt like something that had happened to him. Must have been someone else. There was no way that Nick could have really been that stupid. Twice.

But hey, as long as it didn't happen to him a third time, he'd be alright.

It was obvious to Nick though that even after all this time, he hadn't learned a damn thing though. Not if the stupid way he felt about Sam in that moment was any indication.

Sam was to blame though.

The jerk had summoned up something that looked far too much like outrage on Nick's behalf. "They both sound like real bastards."

"They really, really were." Nick hadn't expected sympathy. It made him feel unsteady.

"I hope you punched both of them."

Nick shrugged, "I may have bloodied some noses… slashed a few tires, called and spoken to a wife. Definitely nothing I apologized for."

"Good." And Sam sounded like he really meant it. He was proud of Nick for retaliating.

Unfortunately, Sam was also one of those 'real bastards'.

The kind that Nick had a hard time staying focused around, or saying no to.

"I will say though," Sam's grin came back in full force. "I told you once that you have real terrible taste in men… and I'm not changing my mind on that."

"So my sexual deviance goes a bit beyond David Bowie, and extends to the occasional doomed relationship with sons of bitches who are obviously going to wreck me." He sighed, playing it off as something hopefully more comical and less tragic. "Everyone's got a bit of a self destructive streak in them somewhere. We do things that we know that we shouldn't. That we know will only end terribly, because every now and then the end result is actually worth the price of admission."

Granted, Nick hadn't found one of those situations yet. It was never worth it. But he held out hope for one day.

One day.

One day that was not going to be today.

He looked at Sam who was still watching him with that fucking tender, accepting expression of his- and Nick realized that he'd grossly underestimated this man.

Retreat seemed like the best option, because any longer basking in this warm glow of friendship was going to take him down a very bad path.

Tossing back his otherwise neglected shot of whiskey, Nick unfolded himself from the couch, taking the bottle and two glasses towards the kitchen. It gave him something to do. He liked having something to do. Even a stupid something that just wasted some time.

"Nick," Sam called out from the other room, kind of a question.

So he answered. " 'm still here." Sort of wished that he wasn't. Not sure how to get out of his own house without making it real weird though.

Even with a room and a hallway between them, Sam's deep breath was quite audible. "I stole something from you." He spoke so fast it was just a jumble of words.

Slowly, Nick came back to the room. Feelling what might have been anger, or at least something very close to it. "You want to run that by me again?"

"I took something that I shouldn't have about two years ago. And I've been wanting to give it back but… there wasn't a really good way to bring it up." Nervous. Sam looked nervous. He'd stood up and was shifting slightly from foot to foot for all the world like an awkward teenager.

"I never should have let you in my fucking house." Nick mumbled to himself. More bothered than he should have been by the confession- especially for the fact that whatever Sam had taken obviously hadn't been all that important, because it all the time between their visits, Nick hadn't noticed a damn thing missing. It was the principle though.

"Nick,"

"I don't turn you in to the cops, I feed you, I let you sleep in my bed because your gangley ass is too big for the couch, and you actually steal something from-"

" _Nick!_ "

Sam had never raised his voice before, and the unexpected change of tone and volume was enough to give Nick flashbacks to being slammed into a wall in the morgue a year ago. It shut Nick up, which was probably the goal.

With another one of those uncomfortably audible deep breaths, Sam took a few steps closer. "Can I please explain? Like I said, I've been trying to work up to this for a long time now, because I knew that no matter how I approached it you were going to get weird."

"This isn't me getting _weird_ , Sam. This is me getting angry."

A couple of steps more, and the other man stopped practically on Nick's toes. Now, it wasn't every day that he came across someone actually taller than him. The fact that Sam outweighed him in at least fifty pounds of muscle didn't help things either. And if Nick hadn't been thoroughly pissed off it all would have been rather intimidating.

"Can I give it back?"

Of all the stupid, "fuck yes. Give me back whatever the hell you took, you son of a bitch."

Sam laughed though. Sort of a soft and amused, and yet overly anxious sound. It's not at all what Nick was expecting.

Same for Sam leaning down and kissing him.

It just wasn't the sort of thing that you can plan for.

So Nick ended up standing stiff as a scarecrow, blinking wildly at the man who dared to brush their lips together. So light, and so brief it was almost possible to miss it all together.

And then… and then they were just standing there, so close, but not touching, and Sam with an oddly expectant and thoroughly charming expression on his big dumb face.

Nick swallowed hard, tongue flicking out to chase the little bit of warmth lingering on his lower lip. Not at all sure if he imagined the whole thing altogether. "You, uh… want to run that one by me again?"

Sam's answer was this crooked sort of little half smile that faded away as he came back in for a second kiss. This one significantly more well received and a bit more lingering, as one of Sam's hands came up. Fingers skimming over the soft line of Nick's throat, thumb hooking under his jaw as his lightly held him where he wanted him.

To his credit, Nick did not whimper, moan, or verbalize any other kind of neediness at the slow, open mouthed kiss. He didn't even get a chance to. Sam was already pulling away again, though not as far this time, their noses almost touching as he watched Nick from far too close.

"Yeah. Nope. I'm not-" for some reason Nick was having a hard time catching his breath. "One more time maybe?"

That wicked little smirk of Sam's got a chuckle to go with it this time, and Nick swore he could taste the other man's laughter as they came back together. A hand slid behind his head, fingers curling in his hair, and trapping Nick in a kiss that he had no desire to escape from. Sam's teeth catching his lower lip with a bit of a growl that was too rough to be a proper kiss. Though kiss it was. And all of them that followed must have been too. Startlingly easy and so very meticulous as he licked his way into Nick's mouth. Kissing him like he was trying to memorise the feel of it. Like there would be a quiz later.

For his own safety, Nick was the one to pull back this time. Heart hammering in his chest as distantly noticed that he'd managed to pull himself together enough to get his hands on the other man. One on the narrow slant of his hip, the other gripping the collar of Sam's tshirt like a lifeline.

It wasn't like he hadn't been kissed in recent memory. Nick had literally had a girlfriend up until a few months ago. He wasn't sex starved, or particularly desperate for companionship of the naked variety.

That said, he was almost positive that no one had ever dared to kiss him like this man right here. Like he already owned Nick. And apparently that sort of unexpected possessiveness, did something unexpectedly bad to reservations about this whole situation here.

Sam was just watching him quietly. Expectant. Hungry.

"Sorry." Nick managed in an only slightly wrecked voice, shaking his head, trying to jostle his thoughts back into some kind of order. "I'm still not getting it. Maybe you wouldn't mind just-"

But Sam cut him off. Stopped Nick from talking by wrapping hands around his hips and literally picking him up, pressing him back into the wall of the hallway, and pinning him there with the sudden weight of his body.

Nick's feet were not touching the ground, and when Sam licked his way into his mouth, he didn't even bother trying to keep any semblance of composure as he groaned greedily.

Now, he'd never been hefted up like a prom date before. Aside from the general exhilaration of it, it lined up their hips in a way that really removed any question of intent. Which was really promising all on it's own. Though Nick had no idea what to do with his legs. So, like his arms that had found their way around Sam's shoulders for support, he hooked his knees up over the other man's hips. Wrapping himself around him like he meant to climb him.

The frantic, violence of their kissing wore down fast. Falling back into something slow and searching. A bit more sedated as they tested each other's edges, seeing what angles worked best. Finding the right amount of pressure and teeth to draw out delicious little sounds. It was a bit of give and take, as any first fumbling make-out with a friend should be.

Nick discovered that pulling Sam's hair would result in sharp teeth along the unprotected skin of his throat.

And Sam found out that biting that pale skin over Nick's pulse would devolve into almost incoherent swearing, nearly every time.

It was a fair exchange.

Though it was over too soon. Sam's fingers digging bruises into Nick's upper thighs as he supported nearly all of his weight. Almost lazy press of their bodies, like he'd sort of forgotten they were there. He balanced Nick between his hips and the wall, so casual like he did this kind of thing every day. There came just enough breathing room between their chests and shoulders, almost like a safety barrier of inches and moments, for them to stare eachother down and round up some dubious opinions about things.

"And all this time I thought you didn't like me." Sam spoke first, sort of disjointed and sudden.

The part of Nick that was currently doing most of his thinking was still very firmly pressed up against the part of Sam that was giving him so much to think about. Distractingly hard, and very noticeable with only a couple layers of denim between them. He had to clear his throat twice before he got words to come out. "All this time I thought you didn't like men."

"I don't like men," Sam rumbled with such an easy smile.

"Well I don't like you." Nick fought down a smile of his own.

"As long as we've cleared that up then." Sam squeezed his hips, his thumbs slipping over the narrow jut of bone. "Sorry I didn't kiss you back on the car that night."

What a strange thing to apologize for. Again. "It would have been really weird if you did. All things considered."

"I didn't know you liked me." Sam sighed, his mouth drifting close enough that their breaths mingled. "I thought you were only kissed me because you thought I was gay... and I had to say no, and then it was kind of awkward. And I've been thinking about your mouth since then, which is a hell of a lot more awkward. Especially when you do that thing when you're grumpy, or thinking hard and you start biting you lip."

"One more time, for the record, I still don't like you. Also, I do not bite my lip. And if you're going to keep talking like that then I'm going to be forced to tell you that your 'stealing something' from me line was cheesy."

"Oooh. That hurts."

"Good."

"It took me months to come up with that one."

"I could tell." Nick said gravely with a nod. "It was a bit overworked."

"Hey, give me a break. It's my first time trying to seduce a doctor of your gender. It's a strange, new process."

Nick didn't want to laugh. He didn't want to encourage Sam. But he did, and it did, and he was rewarded with one of those bright and welcoming grins.

A grin that somehow lead to Sam's mouth back on his neck. Kissing softly and biting a little roughly on the already tender skin. Nick's head fell back, eyes closing as he just let himself sort of get lost in the attention. And almost undoubtedly he'd have hickies tomorrow, which would be great fun trying to explain to his coworkers without looking like a complete fool- but that was tomorrow, and this was tonight, and Sam was laying claim to him slowly, and deliberately, and it felt far too good to get upset about.

Sam's thumbs had found skin. Making small circles and chaotic lines as they slid beneath his shirt and then downward to slide just a touch below the waistband of his jeans. Exploring places that were not his to explore with such intent. Chest tight, he let out a small whimper as fingers found the button of his jeans.

Apparently that was a strong, or desperate enough response to get Sam's attention, and the younger man's mouth left his throat, trailing kisses along his jaw before grinning into a grazing brush of lips. "Too much?"

"God. I hate you." Nick whispered to the ceiling.

With a happy little laugh, Sam nipped at his nose. It was overtly cute in the face of everything else. And whereas the biting and light pawing had been pushing the envelope, cuteness was just dirty pool.

"You don't mean that." Sam whispered, lightly knocking their foreheads together.

"You're right," Nick sighed, his voice a little breathy, but otherwise satisfyingly flat, "I love you and I want you to have my children."

Sam shook his head slowly, rocking Nick along with him. "I don't think that's going to work out like you're planning it to, Doc."

"Shut up." It was hard to be properly sarcastic when being cuddled and throttled and teased.

Nick wanted all of it. To kiss, and argue, and laugh, and be taken apart, one piece at a time by this man here who was still holding him up off the ground with no visible effort. They were conflicting feelings, even if they didn't need to be.

He knew himself though. He knew this weak feeling like an old, familiar song. He'd offer Sam just about anything, and Sam would take it all with a smile- and maybe not tomorrow, or the morning after, but at some point Nick would wake up alone is his bed with that awful empty kind of hollow deep inside.

"Hey," one of Sam's hands touched his cheek. Soft pad of a finger dancing softly over his cheekbone. "Hey, you're biting your lip."

"I don't bite my lip." Nick wanted to say in a confident sort of way, but instead it was a bit of a whisper as he closed his eyes and leaned into the feather soft touches.

"You do," he said with so much authority that he just did not have. "So. What are we, angry or thinking?"

" 'm not angry." He promised, feeling himself smile as Sam laid slow kisses on either corner of his mouth.

Sam chuckled. "I can't believe I'm saying this- but, you think too much, Nick." He shook his head, seemingly disappointed, but still amused at himself. "I guess this is going really fast though. I mean, the line in the gay sand has been drawn. We can come back to it next time I'm visiting. Reevaluate things..."

There was some kind of saying that went "third time's the charm", and Nick in no way believed it. Bad ideas were bad ideas, and making the same mistake multiple times over wasn't going to suddenly make the result more favorable.

But he could hope.

"Look, I don't want to necessarily put a damper on this lovely selfless thing that you've got going right now. But I'm about to be very direct with you, because I feel like I'm dying." Nick adjusted his knees and hips and everything in between, settling a little more roughly than needed against Sam to help prove his point. "You can shut up and carry me to bed and we can figure this thing out long and loud enough that it worries my neighbors- or, I can punch you in the neck."

Sam laughed, sharp and startled, and far too pleased.

"I'm not joking, big boy." Nick was uncomfortably serious. "Fuck me up, or that pretty neck of yours is getting another bruise." There was of course that third option of just putting Nick he hell down and they could go sit on the couch or something like civilized, straight men should and just pretend for once that they were fine and normal and bad ideas weren't the most fun ideas.

"I'm not carrying you to bed." Sam's lips found his for just a moment. "I'm not your chauffeur," he whispered into Nick's mouth. "But if you like, I'm willing to agree to messily walking down the hall with you, crashing into walls while we kiss like teenagers, and then pulling each other's clothes off like consenting adults."

And, as agreements went, that one sounded fairly reasonable to Nick.

So he said yes.

Not in so many words, but his answer would have been hard to miss.


	20. Chapter 20

It probably had something to do with muscle mass, or perhaps just intent- either way, Sam was incredibly heavy. Under other circumstances, it would have made it difficult for Nick to sleep, being half tucked beneath the other man. Warm and pressed together, pockets of heat forming where it was all bare skin against skin. God. It was good though. He couldn't remember the last time he slept so well.

Waking up was even better. Yawning and trying to stretch, but being too trapped to really move. Sam was curled along his back, using Nick's shoulder blade as a pillow, one arm tucked tight against his side, one knee wedged comfortably between Nick's. Virtually he'd become a body pillow to the taller man. It definitely felt like a life upgrade, to be honest.

He turned his face to peer at the bedside clock and think to himself that it still might be too early to try waking up. Comfortable, and warm, and safe, going back to sleep for another hour seemed like a good plan.

But, "you awake?" Sam's soft question tickled along his shoulder.

" ' _mmm_ no. Not yet." He sighed, oh so satisfied with absolutely everything.

"Well, good morning anyways," Sam whispered, his teeth grazing the back of Nick's neck.

Nick laughed. Something halfway between a slightly manly chuckle and a very manly giggle. If he had any shame at all he'd have been embarrassed by the unwilling noise. As it was though, he felt oddly unsteady… happily unsteady, as he let the early morning tumble over him. It wasn't that last night had been particularly magical, or special, or hell, even remotely romantic. For all intents and purposes it was nothing more than a one night stand with someone who didn't happen to be a stranger.

And that sort of complicated things for them.

Or at least it _should_ have complicated things.

But considering that Sam was basically a sweet, tender hearted, boy scout of a man, doing his damndest to come off as as a fearless hardass- he'd been unapologetically immoral last night. And that seemed to have carried on to this morning. The fact that one of Sam's hands was sleepily exploring Nick's right hip and thigh, seemingly searching for the teeth marks that he'd left there a few hours ago, went a long way to alleviate some of the awkwardness that usually came with a morning after.

Nick's mind was still fuzzy with sleepy, but his body was waking up rather quickly at the slow caressing. "Hey, now. What're you doin'? It's too early for that." He mumbled, grinning into his pillow.

"No?" Sam's hand went flat, so compliantly sliding upward over Nick's stomach and away from more interesting things.

" 'm not a morning person." He said like an apology.

"I know. I know." And in a simple shift of his weight and a twitch of his arm, Sam went from laying over Nick to hugging him close. Uncomfortably close.

And not in a 'my shoulder is smooshed, my body isn't meant to be in this position' sort of way.

It was uncomfortable in a borderline 'affectionate and tender when it wasn't called for' kind of way.

Nick hadn't expected Sam to be acting so different.

Why would Sam be different?

What happened to all of the day before's uncertainty and hesitation?

They were supposed to come into this morning together awkward, maybe a bit guilty, agonizing over their communal bad choice. And then they'd agree to never speak of it again. This strange lapse in better judgement.

They weren't supposed to be fucking happy about it upon waking.

Hugging was against the rules.

They were supposed to be in this together.

But apparently all the responsibility to act normal fell to Nick.

Which was ok. He'd been in training for just such a situation.

It was Nick with the horrible, improbable, idiotic attraction to this man that at least ten percent of the time had nothing to do with a physical interest. It was Nick that was fighting down inappropriately lovey feelings while they were all tangled up in the sheets. He was the one second guessing the singular irrevocable mistake of taking Sam to bed.

And he really was good at it. But it was just him. All alone in this uncomfortably conflicting feeling.

Because Sam sure as hell didn't seem to regret any part of it. "Go back to sleep." He whispered, kissing the soft spot behind Nick's ear.

Apparently they should have gone over the rules of conduct last night before undressing each other. Certainly at some point before Sam had unceremoniously pushed Nick down onto the bed and started using his mouth to map out the contours of the older man's hips. At very least they should have made sure that they were on the same page before any of that destructively fantastic, inarguably gay sex that they'd indulged in about two and a half times last night before falling asleep in a sweaty, sticky pile.

A good night, but an increasingly less good morning.

Despite Sam's gentle instructions, Nick chose to stay awake.

It was far easier to lay there staring at the clock for another hour that it would have been to drift back off to dreamland. It would have been almost impossible to just relax and go back to sleep with the knowledge that he'd lost one of the few friends that he had because he hadn't been able to keep his own damn mouth to himself a year ago.

Eventually he gave up on the whole cuddling/pretending to sleep thing, freeing himself from Sam's octopus like embrace, to go take a shower. And what a mess he was. Questionable stickiness dried over his stomach and thighs. It all kind of paired nicely with the light gritty sweaty salty texture on his neck and back, and the comical number of pale bruises left from Sam's ardent mouth and very strong hands.

He'd almost forgotten just how messy really good sex could be. During the act there of you never think about how filthy you're going to be in the morning. But here he was, really thinking about it as he stood under the spray of water, scrubbing himself with a happy little smile.

Happy right up until he heard someone come into the bathroom, and saw a tall shadowy figure through the frosted glass of the shower door. "That you, big boy? Or…"

"Or who?" Sam chuckled softly, popping the shower door open and peeking in with a sleepy smile. "Were you expecting Norman Bates?"

"Ha ha," Nick said dryly, though very pleased at the reference. "No. But it could have been your brother." He wiped water from his eyes, and did his very best to not show any discomfort at standing there completely naked where the other man could see him. They'd sort of passed the point where shyness served a purpose. " 'm glad it's not. I'd have some serious questions as to why he was just barging in on me in he shower."

"I would too." Sam got a small frown that seemed mostly for show. "Um… didn't think it was ever going to come up, and not saying that you would, or that he would… for obvious reasons- but just so we're clear, Dean and I don't share… friends. We've got an agreement."

Now, Nick knew fully well what was being implied, but it was so insane of a suggestion that he couldn't help but be difficult abou it. " _Friends_?"

Lightly clearing his throat, Sam clarified, "lovers."

Which wasn't the word that Nick was expecting to come next and he sort of laughed. Laughed a bit harder than necessary.

Sam's cheeks colored just a little, because he really was just stupidly cute. "Give me a break. I just woke up." And he let himself into the shower. The very small shower. Crowding in alongside Nick like it was the most natural thing in the word.

To which Nick had every intention of protesting. He opened his mouth and everything, but before he could get the words out, Sam kissed his cheek.

"Sorry about last night." He kept talking as he kissed water from Nick's temple and up into his hair. "Not about the all of it- but I could have been a little more gentle."

Like muscle memory, Nick remembered how nicely he fit against Sam, their heights just mismatched enough that he could slid his arms comfortably around the man's ribcage and kiss the upturned edges of his mouth. It was counterproductive to that whole getting clean thing, pressing up against someone as filthy as Sam still was. But they _were_ in the shower- the perfect place to get a little messy if it needed to be done.

"I've got no complaints about my rough treatment." Nick said with a small grin as he let Sam dance him backwards into the shower wall. "Besides, you big oaf, I remember you encouraging me, rather vocally, to be less careful with you. On more than one occasion. We'll call us even."

Rather shamelessly, Sam grinned. Grinned and shrugged and stole a quick kiss. It seemed like he wanted to say something after that, but Nick had sort of forgotten most of his early morning anxiety, in place of all this delicious proximity to Sam- and he couldn't help but pull the man back in for a few more kisses.

The showering process got waylaid for moments, then minutes as the novelty of morning, naked, making out became too good to pass up.

Too good to pass up, but too good to last as well, it seemed.

"The water's getting cold." He whispered against Sam's mouth.

"I noticed." But he said it like he didn't really mind.

"Cold shower might do you some good." Nick pointed out as he caught a fistfull of Sam's hair, forcibly pulling some space between them. "You're awful excitable, awful early in the morning."

"It's was almost ten when you got up."

"Ten?" Nick shook his head. "See now, that's too damn early for this kind of nonsense."

Sam grinned one of those grins of his. All dimples and bright eyes. "I love that you say words like 'nonsense' to me."

"God. You're a strange one, aren't you?"

"Hey, I'm not the one going around saying 'nonsense'."

"It's a perfectly normal word."

"I know." Sam let himself out of their embrace rather reluctantly. "It's just how you say it."

And Nick didn't have a good defence for that one. So he patted Sam's bare chest, "get yourself cleaned up, big boy. I'm gunna' go get dressed and throw the sheets into the wash."

"And I can make us some breakfast?" Sam asked as he started washing up. The bruises from his zombie fight a few days ago mindling with the rather insignificant damage that Nick had caused. He looked much like he had when they first met. All lean muscle and beat to hell- and just fucking gorgeous.

It didn't matter that Nick didn't usually eat anything other than coffee until lunch time, because he still had yet to master the skill of saying no to this man.

.:.

"Absolutely not." It was a noble attempt.

"Come on," Sam urged, his fingers hooked in Nick's belt loops, gently tugging him side to side. "We already know for sure it can hold my weight."

Just because the table could support all of Sam, did not mean that it had the structural integrity for two people. "It's not you I'm worried about, big boy. It's an old table. And the only one I have. And we both know that you have no intention of buying me a new table should your vigorous activities break this one." He lectured, but he also had both hands very firmly on Sam's ass, sort of undermining the grumpy disapproval he was going for.

Ignoring him completely, Sam still sat himself down on the edge of the table, long legs spilling out on either side on Nick. "Then you will just have to resist the urge to be vigorous with me, won't you."

Sighing went a long way to hide his smile. "I have to get ready for work in an hour."

"A whole hour?" Sam made a point to look thoughtfully around the room. At the clock on the wall, and their dirty breakfast dishes, and finally at Nick. "What ever will we do to pass the time?"

Nick laughed. "Cute you can do. But innocent? No. Not buying it."

With a grin and a soft bump of their noses, Sam chuckled in return. "No?"

"Nope."

"Haven't had much practice at it." He confessed, resting their foreheads together and just sharing few breaths. "But I'll work on it." His arms slipped around Nick's waist in that horribly possessive sort of way he had. " 'mm... you going to look at me weird if I say I'd like to just stay like this for a bit?"

Honest answer? "Probably." It _was_ a weird way to be standing together.

"But Dean's going to be back soon, and I'm not sure when we'll be getting on the road again." It wasn't a whine, more of a factual plea.

Just a little longer.

Could they please stay together just a little longer?

When faced with the alternative, staying here actually sounded pretty good.

Though it did make the whole leaving for work thing harder. Especially not knowing if Sam would even still be at the house by the time that Nick got off his shift. He actually debated calling out sick- but he was an adult, and staying home to kiss on a boy that he'd had feelings for for the past few years was not a valid reason to play hooky. Which was a real shame.

Against all odd, the Winchester's big black car was parked conspicuously in his driveway when he got home. Dean had returned, and they hadn't bailed on him again. For once. What a novel change in pattern… only, when he opened the door he saw that both brothers were sitting there in the front room. Jackets on, bags at their feet, obviously not staying.

Nick was tired. On his feet for twelve hours. Worn down. And he prayed that it showed. Because looking tired would be so much more acceptable than looking even half as disappointed as he felt.

"Shipping out again already, I see." He tossed down his keys and made a conscious effort to keep his movements calm and methodical. Just tired. He was just tired.

"Yeah well, the sea calls, and we got to go." Dean shrugged and clamored to his feet. "Would have left two hours ago, but Sammy here insisted that we wait for you to get back and give you a proper thank you and goodbye for once."

Which was uncharacteristically nice of them.

"How thoughtful?" Nick sort of shrugged. Not really sure how to take this.

And then Dean was hugging him, and Nick really didn't know what to do with himself.

It was just a few sharp whacks on the back, Dean's face close enough to Nick to whisper, "he's the only family I got, and I swear to god, if you hurt him I will kill you- and then find a way to bring you back, and I'll kill you again." Then he pulled back, holding Nick by the shoulders and grinning so brightly. "We understand each other, Doc?"

"Yeah." Nick had been threatened before. Happened to him at work more often than you'd expect- except he'd never believed any of the drunks, or strung out druggies. And he really, really believed Dean. "Yeah. We're good."

"Good." With a painfully pointed squeeze to Nick's shoulder, Dean nodded and let himself out. "I'm waiting in the car, Sammy. You've got five minutes." He called over his shoulder.

Nick took a nice, calming breath before looking over at Sam who'd come up off the couch. "Well, that was… a thing that happened."

"What did he say to you?" Sam was shouldering his bag as he closed the space between them, reaching around Nick to nudge the door closed and cut off the line of sight from the house to the driveway.

"Just, you know, usual things." He sort of shrugged, not really sure how to say that Sam's brother had threatened his life. Not really sure if it was something that needed to be said. The moment had passed, and he didn't plan on ever giving Dean a reason to follow through with his threat. "So, where you boys headed this time?"

"We got a call from someone out in Jersey. Werewolf it sounds like."

" _American Werewolf in London_ style, or _Twilight_?"

Sam took a whole second or two to think, "I'd say more Lon Chaney's _Wolfman_ when it comes to the rules _,_ though _American Werewolf_ surprisingly got a few things right."

"Your version of the world is a bit too exciting. You know that?" Nick said a little stiffly. He wanted to tell Sam to be safe. To please be careful if he was planning on going off and hunting monsters. Instead he rolled his shoulders and and looked around the room that would soon be empty. "I'll see you in another year or so?"

One of Sam's hands brushed Nick's. Fingers sliding together and kind of hooking around each other in a way that was almost tender- but most definitely not proper hand holding. Because that would have been weird. "I'm not sure when we'll be back in the area. But I'll call."

"Don't." Nick instructed firmly. "Don't promise that you'll call. I'll get all kinds of stupid expectations if you do, and then all kinds of terrible anxiety when you don't. Calling is a promise that you, specifically you, are really shitty at keeping. Just… you know. Don't worry about checking in. I'll just see you when I see you."

This did not seem to please the other man. If his frown was any indication.

"I _will_ call you." He said almost too firmly as he caught Nick's other hand in his. Officially they were holding hands. And it was gayer than hell. "I… Nick… I'm not sure about you, and it probably would have helped things a bit if we talked about it last night- but I don't really have casual sex." He let that implication hang heavily in the air between them. In all its terrible glory. "So… I will be calling you, probably more than you'll want me to."

And Nick would have liked to have formulated a good sentence. Or even a mildly functional question. He didn't though. He just stood there, wondering what fresh hell he'd fumbled his way into.

"Or you can just come with us." Sam smiled at his own suggestion, like he knew that it was some sort of joke. "We seem to be in need of medical attention at fairly regular intervals- and barring some kind of unexpected divine intervention, you're really the best we've got."

Nick was honestly grateful for something more rational and less terrifying to focus on. "Are you insane? There is no fucking way that I'm going on a cross country monster hunt with you and your alpha male little brother."

"Dean's older than me,"

"Yeah, but he's short."

Sam laughed. Laughed and kissed Nick. Taking their hands and holding them against his own cheeks. And how does anyone fight something so… so damnably sweet?

If there was a way, Nick didn't know it. He slid his fingers back into Sam's hair, twisting small knots, and holding as tight at he could. Why let go? He didn't want to let go. Not right now, and not when he heard an impatient car horn coming from out front.

Ignoring what could only be Dean getting tired of waiting, Sam's mouth was gentle against his, slow and soft. And fuck that. Goodbyes, even insignificant ones like this, were wasted under such restraint. Timid kissed were for cowards. So, Nick kissed that man as if he meant to devour him, and with a growl, Sam returned the favor.

They traded long and bruising kisses that would be difficult to forget.

Which was good, considering that those promised phone calls never came.

It meant that, if nothing else, Nick still had something to look back on.

Something wonderful to dwell on during that first month when he felt kind of hopeful, and insufferably needy.

And then it was something to fuel his anger for quite some time after that.

Until the memory of Sam's mouth against his became little more than one more regret in a long list of many.


	21. Chapter 21

It was a Tuesday. For a few hours more at least. And aside from a singular black mark on a singular day, in all the history of the billions of Tuesdays that had come before- Nick had never really had all that much trouble with them. Had certainly not bothered to develop a healthy, self preserving fear the things.

He'd gone against the natural order of things and started taking day shifts a few years ago. Switched from the ER back to the nice calm radiology department. A decision that had made sense for the relationship that he'd been in at the time. She had worked normal, sane hours like a preschool teacher should. His change in schedule meant that they could see eachother more often. All good and logical choices when he'd made them, and for a good and logical woman, Nick had been willing to do that much.

Small sacrifices weren't enough to make big things work though, and lovely and forgiving woman that she was, she had reached a point of irreconcilable differences about three weeks ago. Even if half of her stuff was still in his house, she was gone, and the change was… it was unpleasant.

Nick didn't like change.

So even though he hated day shifts, he kept them for the time being. One less thing going on to ruffle his feathers. Sunshine and daytime troubles had become familiar enough of a landmark to keep him out of trouble.

More or less.

He'd scrubbed his hands and arms clean with the strong smelling hospital soap and changed from his scrubs into jeans and a tshirt, checking his phone awkwardly with one hand while he struggled to zip up his jacket. There was a voicemail from his younger brother.

A strange voicemail.

"Nick… there's a bit of a problem at your house. And by 'bit' I mean big… and by 'big' I mean tall… it's a tall problem." Gabriel sounded uneasy, even as he laughed uncomfortably. " _Your_ problem, not mine. I'm postponing our _Real Housewives_ marathon. Call me when you get your shit in order. I love you."

Short, very unspecific message, which probably meant that there was another big and gross looking spider on the ceiling. Last spider incident was a few nights back, and had seen Gabe stubbornly outside on the porch, in the rain, until Nick had been able to produce the spider's mangled corpse.

He wished that his brother had more grown up responses to bugs, or was at least slightly more responsible when it came to things like turning off the lights when he left Nick's house.

From the driveway, he could see what looked to be both the livingroom and kitchen lights still on. It didn't matter that it was kind of grey and overcast outside, it was still the middle of the damn day and his brother was a jerk.

Nick grumbled to himself, sending a snide text to Gabriel as he let himself in the house, tossing down his keys and kicking off his shoes… to see an unfamiliar set of boots sitting against the baseboard. Too big to be Gabe's. And Nick had no recollection of anyone coming over and leaving shoes at any point.

It was weird.

A little more than weird, but a little less than suspicious.

They were, after all, just a pair of worn work boots.

He shook his head and turned off the light, going down the hall with every intention of dumping his dirty work clothes into the wash. He didn't make it as far as the garage though, because the sight of the rather tall man sitting at his table was startling enough to make Nick stumble back out into the hall and drop his little duffle bag of clothes. It was not a helpful response. Not by miles. But he'd never claimed to be good in this flavor of emergency.

"Nick?" Came the concerned, and very familiar voice.

Nick knew that voice. Like rewatching a favorite movie that he hadn't seen since childhood. He _knew_ that voice. And as he steeled himself and came back into the room, he realized that he knew that face too.

"You." Just like Nick knew that aching tightness in his chest, and the old embers of anger flickering back to life low in his gut. "You son of a bitch. Fucking get out of my house."

Sam smiled a tight smile, big awkward hands strangling one of Nick's coffee cups. "I'd sort of hoped that we could talk… there's more coffee in the kitchen… if you want."

What Nick wanted was to yell. He wanted to throw things. He wanted to storm over to that side of the room and take hold of Sam by his shaggy hair that had grown too long over the years, and slam his head down into the table top. He wanted to demand excuses as to why the hell he hadn't heard from or seen this man in years. He wanted to cry- in a masculine, restrained, frustrated kind of way.

But, coffee sounded good too.

He hung out in the kitchen longer than fully necessary. Taking his sweet, sweet time in making the perfect cup for himself, and fully avoiding the mess that waited in the other room for him, just out of the edge of his peripheral. He wasn't actually sure if Sam was still at the table- so firmly was Nick not looking that direction.

It was actually possible that Sam had never been there at all.

Just a bizarre daydream that Nick was having. As he'd done a few times before. Thinking he'd seen Sam in a crowd, thinking that he'd heard his voice. Stupid things.

Though none as stupid, or pitiful, as a full blown hallucination of the man making him coffee. That might be a little far fetched.

"I met a ghost a few years back." He told the milk as he poured some into his coffee. "Teen boy came into the ER after a bike accident. The paramedics that brought him in had done the best they could, but they couldn't stabilize him and he died before we could get him into surgery. The body got picked up a few hours later- but that kid, he hung around the hospital for weeks." He sipped on his coffee, testing the temperature hesitantly, waiting for some kind of response from the other room. None came, so Nick kept continued, "are you a ghost too, Sam?"

A sonata of silence came from the other room, before finally a very soft answer of " 'm not a ghost."

Carefully, Nick put the milk back in the fridge, focusing very hard on finding an island of calm deep inside himself. "Sorry to hear that, Sam- because you being dead is the only good reason I have ever been able come up with as to why it's been over five years since you you've said so much as boo to me."

It was strange to hear so much apology crammed into a singular syllable, "Nick,"

"Five fucking years, Sam!" No. He was having none of it. Nick was rapidly being pulled far, far from anything at all like calm. "If it was a one night stand, then good. _Great_. But you had no right to make like it was anything else- and you sure as shit don't get to just come back around when you feel like it. Do you have any idea how much you- you,"

And Nick felt sick. Way too vulnerable suddenly, because he'd scratched open an old wound that he'd never intended to air. To his credit though, he did not panic. No. Not Nick. He just swallowed it all down from where it came from. Where it had been dormant for years, and he prayed that it settled back down.

He set his mug on the counter so he wouldn't do anything foolish with it. Slowly turning to face the table and the man that was still sitting there.

"So, not dead. Not a ghost." Slow even breaths did wonders for Nick. "Not really sure what the hell you're doing here."

Sam looked deep into his own coffee cup and slowly shook his head. Apparently he didn't know either.

"This is when you start apologise." Nick instructed. "I remember you were always real good at apologizing. So go for it. Tell me how you meant to call. How you picked up your phone a hundred times but just never could bring yourself to dial my number. Tell me all about how a week after you left, when your phone number got disconnected so I wasn't able to call you either. Oh, and then tell me the one about how you forgot where the whole damn state of Texas was up until today."

"If it's any consolation at all," Sam spoke so softly, like you would to a jumpy looking wild animal. "I was dead for a few days."

This was of no consolation to anyone.

"A few days is a far cry from half a decade." Nick wasn't sure why he was holding his elbows, arms crossed tight over his stomach, except it gave his hands and arms something to do.

"Dean said it was about a week." And Sam continued, somehow shrugging his claim off as easy as you would if you were saying that you'd had a touch of the flu. "But we know a guy… an Angel named Cas, and he pulled some strings. Made some deals. Brought me back."

Over the years, and in the face of some colossal strangeness, Nick had learned to believe in a lot of things. He chose to pass on buying into this one though. Lines had to be drawn somewhere. It must have shown on his face, because Sam sighed, frowning and looking away.

Nick didn't want to hear these excuses.

Some years back he'd come to terms with the fact that there was very little difference between Sam and the two men that had come before him. Nick considered himself a comfortable two or three a sliding sexuality scale. He was on the straighter side of things, but depending on the day and the person he'd been happy to make exceptions. And damn it all if he didn't exclusively pick the worst men. It was as if he instinctually set his heart on the ones that would do the most damage to him.

Unfortunately though, Sam had been the worst of the three. Because it hadn't been just sex. Sex made up a negligible percentage of their time together- and hadn't really factored into the how and why he'd been missed. They'd been borderline friends. Nick had actually really enjoyed being around Sam. This terrible man haunting his table had made him genuinely happy. In a frustrated, manic sort of way.

And all things considered, it had been a hell of a lot harder to get over someone like that.

"Well, that's great. Glad we could catch up." Shakily, Nick hefted his coffee off the counter and sipped because it gave his mind time to think while his mouth was nice and occupied. It didn't seem to help much though, because the next words out of his mouth surely didn't sound well thought out. "Maybe we can do it again in another five years. You'll let yourself out- you remember where the door is, right?"

Sam was frowning. Sam was very good at frowning. He seemed more frustrated than hurt, if that meant anything. "I know it doesn't count for much now, Nick. But I died, in a really stupid way, right after I left here. And what my brother and Cas managed to bring back of me wasn't good for much else other than hunting. Certainly wasn't anyone that I would have wanted anywhere near you. You're a good person, and for about a year I was a soulless bastard." He sipped a bit of his own coffee. It seemed like his cup was practically empty, but maybe he too needed a bit of time to collect himself. "I don't mean that figuratively, Nick. My soul was in hell for nearly a whole year. And I did a lot of things I'm not proud of without my conscious to keep me on the right track. I was… I was a real mess when they finally put me back together the right way. And I'm not going to lie. I didn't even think about you most days. I was too busy just trying to cope with all that had happened."

Nick hadn't wanted to believe this lunatic tale. And part of him still very firmly was clinging to the saner side of his thoughts. But he realized that it didn't matter if he fully believed this story being fed to him- because whatever happened to Sam had obviously taken quite a large chunk out of him. Something not easy to replace or repair.

All better, and bitter intentions aside, Nick really wasn't sure what to offer.

"By the time I'd got my head straight it had already been so long since I'd seen you… and I knew that coming back would… it would be a lot like this." And Sam got the smallest smile. A shallow memory of one of his old grins. It looked different on him now that his face had filled out. He'd lost those softer edges of youth and settled into a more rugged, rough sort of jaw line. It went nicely with what had to be a week's worth of stubble. His eyes still gentle, his hair a mess. Skin paler than normal. And not just because it was the tale end of winter-

For the first time Nick actually really looked at Sam. Not as the Sam that he'd known come back to torment him, but as this man right here sitting at his table.

"Oh god- you're hurt again, aren't you?"

"Just a little. Yeah." Sam's smile seemed strained the longer he wore it.

"For fuck's sake." Nick put down his coffee and came over. "You bastard. Why didn't you say so?"

"You were yelling at me, and I deserved it… so I figured that the whole bleeding thing could wait a bit."

"I hate you so much."

"I know," Sam set his own cup aside and held his arms out wide for inspection.

"I know you know." He rounded the table and missed a step. "Shit,"

The part of Sam that had been below the table's edge as not well. His tshirt and flannel dark and plastered to his stomach. "It's just a little stab wound this time around. The knife went clean through."

The idea somewhat horrified Nick. "How big was this knife?"

"Just regular stabbing knife sized?" Sam didn't seem nearly as bothered by this as he should be. "It was just very off to one side."

"Why do you do this to me?" He wasn't really expecting an answer. "Just get up. Come on,"

Sam lowered his inviting arms. "Not really sure if I can."

More of those slow, even breaths as Nick took a knee. "Of course you can't. Why would you ever make things easier for me?" Without waiting for permission, he just peeled up the offending shirt, and despite what he was expecting to see- he found himself laughing. "Is this actually duct tape?"

"I needed something to stop the bleeding."

Crouching down here on the floor meant that Nick had to glare upwards. "How long did you plan on sitting in my diningroom held together with only duct tape and bad ideas?"

"It wasn't my first choice- but it's all I had in the car."

That gave Nick some pause. "I didn't see your car."

"I put it in the garage."

He was going to regret asking. He knew that he would. But still he pressed on, " _my_ garage?"

"I didn't want to worry your neighbors… with the blood all over the car and everything." Sam shrugged a single shoulder. "Not my blood all over the outside of the car, if that helps?"

"There is nothing at all that you can tell me that is going to help right now. Alright?" He settled the bottom of Sam's shirt somewhere up around his ribs, giving a clear view of his shoddy first aid skills. There was more tape on Sam's back. Nick found it difficult to resist the urge to poke at it. "Seriously though, I need you laying down before I get this tape off and look at the damage."

Sam wisely resisted the urge to comment on the fact that Nick needed him, laying down or in any other position. Instead he braced himself on the edge of the table and pulled himself upright, looking only slightly woozy. "Ok. Up. How far are we going?"

"Just the table. Just lay down." Nick was suddenly very worried with the notion that if Sam lost his footing he'd be nearly impossible to catch. "It's not ideal, but it's kind of symmetrical in a poetic sort of way?"

"Symmetrical?" Sam grunted as he sat down, swinging his long, long legs up onto the table and awkwardly laying back.

"It's how we met, isn't it?" Nick took off his jacket, tossing it over one of the chairs. "If it's all the same, you can skip the punching me in the jaw part of it though." Cautiously he started to peel back the tape, and found himself laughing again. "Oh, now here you had me all worried. They barely scratched you this time."

It was such a small injury. If it had been only an inch to the left it would have been a graze instead of an actual hole. Angry dark red gash in the curve of his oblique. Still must have hurt like hell. Definitely had bled with some enthusiasm, and seemed quite happy to resume it now that the tape was out of the way.

"Keep pressure here," Nick took one of Sam's hands, holding it very firmly over the wound. "Lucky for you, years and years ago I was still holding out hope that you'd just show up one day out of the blue, and I stocked up accordingly." Out in the garage, tucked back in the liquor cabinet beside the bourbon, was a first aid kit with Sam's name on it. Quite literally. Though his name had been scribbled over so that it now read 'in case of _jackassery_ '... the meaning remained unchanged.

Small stitches.

Lots of gauze.

Then Sam rolled over and Nick started the same song and dance on the other side of him.

It was a good time to not talk to each other.

They'd been doing it for so many years, it sort of felt natural.

Sam stayed laying on his stomach, arms folded up under his chin like a pillow as he watched Nick sideways over a shoulder. He grunted softly as the stitches went into his back, and the corners of his eyes were tight, but otherwise he could have passed for someone who was comfortably enjoying himself.

If Nick had been a nicer person, or someone not still dragging himself through a hell of a lot of half remembered heartache, he would have been more gentle about the process. But there was no tenderness in his work. Just tight efficient stitches before he taped another square of gauze down… and very firmly patted his handiwork.

Which got a very surprised, very sharp sound out of Sam.

"It's actually kind of impressive, considering how you live, that it's taken you this long to get this badly hurt again." Nick chose not to comment directly on the twilight colored bruising over Sam's ribs that probably meant something was near broken or worse.

For a few seconds Sam just stared him down, possibly not amused at having his knife wound slapped, but he rolled his shoulders and looked off at the wall. "I've actually been shot a few times, stabbed I don't know how many, arm broken twice, nose once, few fingers and toes- but we've got a friend who travels with us sometimes, the Angel I mentioned, and he's been fixing us up."

"And he didn't feel like it this time?" For whatever crazy reason, Nick realised he was jealous that someone else out there had been doctoring his Sam.

Nope.

Not _his_ Sam.

Never had been his Sam.

It was an important thing to remember.

"He, uh, sort of lost his Angel mojo. So he's just regular off the shelf, generic hman now. That's actually why Dean isn't here. He's off helping Cas out with something up in Idaho."

More information than Nick needed. And none of it really meant anything to him. It was all just words that didn't land anywhere significant. He wasn't honestly sure that he believed in Angels. Certainly didn't feel like changing his personal theological standing just because of Sam's sayso. But that wasn't the part that was important here.

Nick busied his hands with picking up the small medical mess, bideing his time because he didn't want to ask the question at the forefront of his mind- but ne _needed_ to know. "Sam, did you come back here because you were hurt... or did you get hurt on your way here?" And whatever answer there might be to that felt far more than it had any right to be.

It took Sam longer than it should have to reply. "I was on a hunt up in Sweetwater," but at least he was honest.

Nick just nodded and went to the kitchen to go clean himself up, mumbling, "fucking coward," under his breath. He didn't know if Sam heard him, and he didn't care. He scrubbed blood from his hands, making sure to get under his nails and just really gave himself over to the task, because otherwise he'd be too tempted to dwell on the fact that all that old anger roiling around in his chest had started to hurt something fierce.

"Your brother…" Sam seemed to be searching for something to say, not able to handle the overwhelming quiet. "He got out of here in a big hurry after he let me in."

"He's a bit scared of you- seeing as you're twice his height and all." And the fact that Sam had been bleeding definitely wouldn't have helped. Nick sighed, turning off the tap and drying his hands on his pants. "I'm sure he didn't go far. He's probably out getting himself something to eat and waiting for me to text him that you're gone and it's safe… he'll be back soon. Even if I don't call him. He's been staying here pretty regularly since the divorce."

"Oh," Sam sort of trailed off, still laying there on the table, watching Nick moving around in the other room with a closed expression on his face. "I didn't know he was married."

"He wasn't." Nick found his coffee cup. "I was."

"Oh," came the same response, but much, much quieter this time.

The coffee had gotten cold and Nick didn't want it anymore.

He didn't want anything right now, other than to maybe crawl into bed and just shut out the world.

"I guess that explains the sudden art on the walls and the decorative pillows on the couch," Sam said after what seemed like much thought. "I was sort of wondering about that."

That dull ache was turning into something worse the longer Nick stared into his mug. "Yeah… she didn't take a lot of stuff with her when she left."

"I'm sorry, man,"

"Shut the hell up." Nick managed without much venom. "You left and you didn't come back. You lost the option to comment on my life."

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"You're only here because you needed a doctor and the hospitals would have asked too many questions."

It may have been truth, but it didn't set well with Sam. He slowly rolled himself over and sat up with only a small wince. "Nick,"

"Don't even start with me. The only reason I haven't chucked my mug at you is that it's one of my favorites and I'd be upset if I broke it on your big dumb face."

With some care, Sam tugged his ruined shirts back into place, settling the stained cloth gingerly over his bandages. Frowning in concentration and for lack of a comeback.

"Couch or table. It's your choice, big boy." The nickname felt alien to Nick's mouth, but he shook it off. Dumping his undrinkable coffee down the sink. "You can stay a day or so, until you're well enough to clean the blood off your car. Then you can get the hell out."

Startled, Sam looked up from his clothes to blink wildly at Nick.

"I don't fucking care anymore. I can't. Ok? Just rest, go drink some water. And try not to make yourself any worse or I'll yell at you again." That's all he had to say. It was all that Nick really had left at this point. Just the smallest offer of sanctuary- the pathologica caregiver deep within him winning out by an important margin. But he couldn't stay. He couldn't just stand here talking to Sam for a second more.

The backyard was welcoming. It was quiet. Nice cloud cover that threatened rain before night fall. Most importantly, there was no one else out here. Nick set himself down on the porch swing, and instantly had regrets that he was still shoeless and wearing only a tshirt. It wasn't _cold_ per se, but given enough time and he'd have to head back in to seek some warmth.

Except, after about an hour, round the time that Nick had calmed down enough to consider actually going inside- he heard the back door open.

"It's cold out here." Sam's voice was so careful- and then he set Nick's jacket down on the arm of the swing.

It was such an unnecessarily thoughtful gesture.

Deliberate and intentional and downright uncalled for, considering all that there was to consider.

Still, Nick took the jacket, pulling it on and pointedly watching the back fence. "Sit down, you bastard. You shouldn't be up and walking around." And somewhere behind him, he could hear the other man shuffle awkwardly without making any progress in any particular direction. "Sit." Nick commanded more firmly, in his best serious doctor voice, as he knocked his knuckles on the slats of wood to his left.

Hesitantly, Sam followed the order, sitting on his side of the bench like he expected the thing to collapse and kill him any second now. "This is new."

"My older brother made it. It was a wedding present a few years ago." Nick pressed the balls of his feet into the old wood of the porch and rocked them back and forth a few inches.

"It's nice."

"You suck at small talk." Nick felt a need to point out the obvious.

Sam's shrug was meaningless. "I needed to say something."

"No." Nick's breath caught in his throat for a second, making an odd little noise as he swallowed. "It's really in your best interest not to say anything to me for a while."

Apparently he could do that. Easy directions to follow, and Sam lapsed into a healthy silence. His equally bare feet dragging slightly now and then as he half heartedly helped Nick keep the gentle momentum of the swing going.

The situation would have been significantly more restful if the air didn't now smell like Sam, and blood, and damp pavement. The sky had finally opened, and gentle rain had started to patter down, but the the porch overhang kept them dry so there was no need to retreat.

Well… there were needs. But they had nothing to do with the rain.

Nick knew himself- either well enough to acknowledge that he was a coward, or that the anger he was still clinging to after so many years would be too volatile if he gave it voice. Either way, he wasn't allowed to turn his head to look at the man beside him. Just like talking wasn't really an option that he could safely pursue. So he swung slowly, doing his best to memorise the way that the rain made the leaves on the trees jump from time to time.

With all that quiet going on between them, it was hard to ignore the fact that Sam was sitting too close. Closer than was polite. Barely inches between them- and yet nearly two feet of empty, usable space on Sam's far side. His proximity as deliberate as his choice to bring Nick's jacket out to him.

He wanted something. Something more than just to get a handful of stitches.

Problem was, Nick didn't know what the man could possible want from him at this point. They'd run the full gamut of their friendship, as well as their friends with benifits-ship.

Facts that would be a lot easier to acknowledge if Nick hadn't missed Sam so damn much for so long. In a weird way, he _still_ missed him. Missed the man sitting there next to him with his long legs and his oversized hands folded so carefully in his lap as he watched the flickers of distant lightning on the horizon.

With convictions that he wasn't sure he had, Nick let his left leg fall a little wide, heel digging into the porch. Knee resting against Sam's. Quietly, he kept the contact.

Quiet, quiet, quiet.

They could both do it.

They could both silently pretend that they were still miles and miles apart. Not even a blip on one another's radar. They were still separately living their lives with no intention for their paths to ever cross again.

And for someone who had very pointedly refused to think about this man here for _years_ , it pained Nick to acknowledge that right now he could really, really use a friend. But did it have to be this friend? This man? This son of a bitch who apparently could figure out how to come back to life, but couldn't figure out how to pick up a damn phone like he'd promised.

Maybe if Nick hadn't gotten divorce paperwork in the mail last week he'd be feeling a bit stronger and more capable of coping with these awful feelings he was wading through.

It was possible that if it was anyone other than Sam beside him, that Nick would be able to keep on swallowing everything down. Only, it was Sam, so any alternative outcome was overridden by too much history that was too hard to push aside.

"You don't get to talk."Nick started by making a point to remind Sam.

The younger man looked at him like he'd only just realised he wasn't alone on the bench. "Ok?"

Nick sighed in frustration. "Did I stutter? No. So keep that purdy mouth of your shut for once, and fucking scoot down. You're crowding me."

With a half hidden smile, Sam made a zipping motion over his lips, before tossing an imaginary key out onto the lawn. He inched away, making some well needed breathing room between them.

"You would not believe the day I've been having." Nick sighed, letting his head fall back, doing what he could to mask the effort to stretch and keep his knee against Sam's. "Granted, your day promises to have been a hell of a lot more exciting than mine. But still. I'd bet cash that mine would still win. And all that credit can't go straight to you. So don't get all proud about it or anything. I was already hovering around a solid eight out of ten on the stress scale- but you did sort of push things to an eleven."

Playing the good boy that they both knew he wasn't, Sam didn't comment on that particular claim.

And in a bid for worst plan that he'd had in years, Nick repositioned himself, turning and tucking his knees up onto the bench so that he'd fit when he laid back with his head resting on Sam's thigh.

There were probably a million reasons why he should not be instigating this level of physical contact- and not a single solitary reason he could think of to rationalise his own actions. Nick accepted it all with a soft sigh as he closed his eyes, settled in and began rambling on as if Sam's lap were a therapist's couch.

"It's been really nice weather the past few weeks, but it looked like rain this morning when I was getting ready. So I went to go find my jacket and realised that Anna had left all her winter things in the closet. She took the damn dog with her when she left, but I swear she forgot everything else. So I'm standing there in the hall, losing a staring contest with a little blue peacoat, and I think to myself that today is going to be complete shit- but at least the bar had been set and surely it wasn't going to get any worse. Then I get to work and the MRI machine is down, but no one bothered to start reschedualing all the patients, so I got to make about twenty calls to about twenty pissed off people. Then the coffee machine on our floor was broken. And then I have to come home to the unexpected return of the worse one night stand I've ever had, bleeding all over my house."

It was Sam's turn to sigh, his quiet form of protest to the accusation.

Nick resisted the urge to open his eyes and look up. He would much rather settle into the warmth that the other man had to offer. "Don't deny it. It was a single night of amazing sex, and then you left, and then you never called after promising you would. That is the very definition of a bad one night stand. Only way it could have been worse is if I'd caught something from you."

One of Sam's hands lightly thumped the top of Nick's head in a way that didn't hurt, but still voiced his disapproval in a silent kind of way.

"I will say that you are not an easy fling to get over- not easy, but not impossible. I licked my wounds and I moved on years ago. You had your reasons for going, and not calling, or ever coming back except when you needed something from me, you bastard… but we're both adults and you don't owe me an apology. I knew what you were when I picked you up- and I choose to take the highroad on this one and move on peacefully."

Sam thumped his head a second time, but this time his hand stayed in Nick's hair. Fingers curling so carefully.

"It felt really nice to yell at you though. Vent a little of that endless well of 'I hate my life and all the terrible choices that I've made that brought me to here and now'. It's healthy. I think punching you would also do me some good. Might hurt my hand, but I bet it would do wonders for my everything else."

"If you think it will help?" Sam offered so softly.

Nick slitted his eyes, glaring awkwardly upward for the second time today. "What did I say about you talking? Here I am, trying to achieve some kind of fucking zen, and you just keep opening that mouth of yours. Do you have any idea what sort of terrible pavlovian response I get to you taking?"

Wisely, Sam didn't say 'no', he just shook his head.

"So kindly keep it down up there, or I will trade in my free sucker punch for poking you right in the stitches. I'll do it. I swear I will. Hippocratic oath be damned."

Sam shushed him. A soft little sound as his hand moved from Nick's hair. One finger pressing down lightly to the center of Nick's lips. His hands smelled like gunpowder and blood. They partook in some very heavy eye contact for a breath, and then the younger man settled himself in, head falling back as he watched the sky. His hand returned to Nick's hair, fingers slowly tracing patterns along his scalp. So calm and comfortable and easy.

It would have been a shame to shake the younger man off. Especially seeing as he was being so darn brave in light of Nick's threats. So Nick suffered through the very gentle petting, letting his mind drift and the tension he'd been harboring in his shoulders to ease.

The rain grew worse. The lightning got close enough that each bolt lit up the backyard, and the rolling thunder made the windows rattle.

Nick could feel the rumbling in his chest and taste the ozone on the tip of his tongue. Storms like these made their way through this part of the state every spring and summer. There was something soothing about them, familiar, clean.

"Should we head back in?" Sam ruined the peace.

"Seriously?" Nick focused slowly, "you just keep talking."

"It's almost like I either don't consider your threats all that threatening, or maybe I just have my doubts about the safety of being outside during a lightning storm."

"Pansy," Nick rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his stomach, firmly refusing to be moved.

"You do know that you've now got dried blood in your hair, right?"

Considering that Sam had come out of the house still wearing his bloodied clothes, and Nick was using him as a pillow, this fact was not actually surprising. Disappointing, yes. But surprising, no.

Nick watched Sam watching him, and wondered if there was any good way to get out of the strange position that he'd gotten himself into without clearly announcing to the world that he'd willingly put himself into it in the first place . So he deflected. "What were you hunting up in Sweetwater?"

"Demons." Was the simple answer, and oddly no further details were offered.

"Anything else hurt on ya' enough that I need to worry?"

Sam took the time to actually think about that one before shaking his head. "Just a few bruises this time."

Which was good news, and Nick had nothing else to offer other than a slightly sympathetic nod.

The rain kept up its side of the conversation. Filling the space when the men had very rapidly run out of words.

Seemingly at a loss for a better choice of action, Sam slid his index finger down the length of Nick's nose before lightly poking him.

And Nick was not amused.

Though as Sam slowly traced his fingers up over Nick's cheek bones and along the edge of his jaw, it was hard not to smile. A few hours ago, even suggesting that he let the younger man touch him would have resulted in a punch to the face. Things had settled a bit in Nick though. The patterning of the rain more than anything else quieting down so much of the old anger that had resurfaced.

Five years is a long time.

A damn long time.

But Nick was no longer the same self deprecating, mess of a man that Sam had kissed and quit years back. He was broken and beaten down in whole new and exciting ways now. All the old holes patched and painted over so as not to distract from the fresh new troubles.

At least that is how Nick chose to see himself, though if he was being wholly honest it was rather obvious that even if he was calling the songs by new names, the melodies were still very much the same.

Seeming to just notice for the first time, Sam's fingers slowed their careful path and hesitated in something almost like surprise. "You got old."

" _I_ got old?" Nick snorted softly. "First off, I look damn good on days less shitty than this one. Second, have you looked at yourself recently? You've got to be at least ten years older than last time I saw you. You've got enough stubble for at least three grizzled mountain men. And what the hell is going on with your hair? You look like you play the bass in some new wave, lumberjack, hipster band."

Sam laughed.

Laughed so happy and free for just a moment.

But it seemed that the storm didn't care for the competition and the next flash of lightning tore through the sky right above the house, Car alarms started going off out on the street, and there was a strange, light burning smell.

"Fuck Texas, and fuck lightning storms." Sam hissed almost reverently, eyes just a touch too wide.

"You watch your mouth, boy." Nick slowly sat up, drawing his knees to his chest in an effort to fit on the bench while still sitting the wrong way. "Don't you dare take the name of Texas in vain."

"Or what?" Sam asked in a low voice behind Nick.

"Don't think that just because I let you get all mister big hands with me a few seconds ago, that I am interested in putting up with any of your nonsense. Not anymore today than last time you were here. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And don't you ' _yes, sir_ ' me. You've had me on my back, and on my knees, and you even wore one of my legs like a hat at some point. We're way past the 'sir' point." He glanced over his shoulder at the man sitting behind him, and something in his gut clenched.

Sam was still watching the rain fall through the trees, great grey sheets coming down and obscuring most of the world beyond the edge of the fence. But he was smiling. An odd kind of smile, so warm, and so slightly crooked.

"I missed you." Sam told the backyard, even as his hand closest to Nick lightly touched the sleeve of his jacket. "Your prickliness, and your aggressive smiles, and your 'fuck you' attitude."

Nick frowned, not sure at all what that was supposed to mean.

"There's something reassuring about the fact that you're still you after all this time."

"Who else would I be?"

Sam glanced his way and still had that damnable smile, just a hint of his siren call dimples showing. "I didn't know. People change."

"Change is for quitters." He felt an answering smile creeping along the edges of his mouth. "And I may be many things, but quitter I am not."

Sam shook his head, laughing with soft little huffs of breath before looking back out at the yard and asking so softly, "Nick... how hard would you hit me if I tried to kiss you?"

As unexpected questions went, that was definitely an option.

"About as hard as I fucking can, I'd think." Nick stood, finding his balance after too long of reclining. Yes, putting so much sudden room between them was as sudden as it was guilty looking, and Nick did not give a good god damn- because that was a dangerous situation that he was responsibly avoiding it. Deep breath and he looked back at Sam, "Someone did some lousy target practice on you today and you need to rest. Come on. There's a couch inside with your name on it."

"What happened to the extra bedroom?" The man was still swinging slowly, and still smiling like he had a secret.

"Anna turned it into an office." Nick dug his hands into his pockets, really feeling the cold now that he wasn't leaning on a human shaped radiator. "So, I mean… if you want to sleep on a computer chair, be my guest? But you'll probably be more comfortable on the couch." Nick knew that Sam was too tall. Far too tall to fit those long legs of his easily on the average sized sofa. But it didn't matter. Their usual standing offer of sharing a sleeping space was no longer something that Nick was able to give.

Sam didn't ask though. Either he didn't want to, or he knew when not to push.

The man, who Nick would swear got taller every time they met, followed him inside. Into the rather dark inside of the house. And at first, Nick assumed that Sam had just turned the lights out when he'd come to join him, but flicking the light switch on the wall proved that that was not the case.

"Power's out." He mumbled and scuffed his bare feet against the hall carpet in an effort to warm them up a bit. "Happens sometimes during storms. Should be back in a few hours."

"So…" Sam kept a hand on the wall as he made his way gingerly towards the front room, "until then we sit in the dark and tell campfire stories?"

"mmm, I suppose that all depends on if you know any good stories?"

As it turned out, Sam had some pretty damn good stories.

Almost every single one of them involved some terrible nightmare of a monster, or at very least some poor soul making choices so bad that even Nick had to shake his head in sympathy.

They tucked up on the couch. Sharing it while still being about as far apart as two people can be while on the same piece of furniture. Sam's day must have been wearing on him, and he spoke hardly loud enough to be heard over the rain, reclining with his feet up on the coffee table like he lived here. Nick would have told him to knock it off- except it would have interrupted the flow of one story to the next.

Up until that night, Nick had had no indication as to how well horror stories went with beer and ice cream. But with the power out, and half a pint of ice cream endangered of melting into a puddle, he considered it his solemn duty to share the carton with the other man.

Sam seemed to favor beer over ice cream- didn't have much of a sweet tooth apparently. And honest, neither did Nick. But Gabriel did. And it was his ice cream that they were eating while the little weasel was out of the house. So it tasted sort of amazing in a 'spoils of war' kind of way. Wholly worth it, even if it was pistachio flavored.

"And that is why," Sam concluded without much hint of a smile, despite the fact that his story had contained actual gnomes, "you never go camping in the Ozarks in the fall."

Nick shook his head, licking the last bit of ice cream from his spoon, kind of loving- but also fairly concerned by the way that Sam was watching him. "See now, have you ever considered that, with the culmination of all your life experience, that perhaps an early retirement might be a good idea?"

"And do what with myself?"

"Well, not get hog tied by someone's lawn ornaments and dragged off into the night, for a start."

"Can't say it was my favorite… but I'm really, really bad at pretending to be normal at this point. I wouldn't know how to settle down." And he smiled one of those smiles of his. One that would have lit up the room if it wasn't nearly too damn dark to see him. "And I like knowing that I'm doing right in the world. I help people."

"So to do tax accountants." Nick pointed out.

"Smart ass." Sam said with so much affection. Shaking his head he started to get up, wincing slightly as he got both feet on the floor and slowly stood.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"To get some water." He said so simply. No hint of subterfuge. "My throat's dry and beer really isn't helping."

Frustrated, Nick got up too. "Sit your ass down. I'll get you some damn water." Which he should have done before they sat down, but he was too busy doing his best not to think about Sam to think about Sam's possible needs. He came back wit the biggest glass of water that he could manage and set it down beside the man. "For your delicate throat. Drink up. Try to rest. And I'm going to go get a shower."

Sam held his water without drinking any, "Shower? ...but the power is out..."

"There should be enough hot water sitting in the tank for one shower. And I've earned myself a shower." He held his arms out to show the blood on his sleeves, then gestured with wide hands to the mess that he knew must be in his hair.

In an almost comical sort of way looked down at his own clothes and the blood dried all over himself, like an extra in a cheap horror movie. " _One_ shower?"

"Don't worry. I'll enjoy it enough for two people." Overly pleased with himself, Nick sauntered down the hall. He made it as far as his room before the guilt set in. The lonely part of him that he'd tucked deep down and forgotten years and years ago told him to let Sam be miserable and uncomfortable, because he had earned it. But the doctor part of Nick, that part was much louder.

Knowing his might very much regret it, Nick leaned out into the hall, and made sure to talk in his most flat and uninterested voice. "But, if in my enthusiasm to get cleaned, should I forget to lock the bathroom door, and should you feel a need to get in on this whole 'washing your blood off of us' thing, please remember that you should try to not get your stitches wet."

He couldn't see where Sam was sitting on the couch, so Nick had no idea how his invitation was received. The other man certainly didn't say anything. But that was neither a good sign or a bad one. Determined not to let something small and potentially worrisome as that get to him, Nick grabbed some clean clothes and went into his bathroom

The power had gone out with almost every storm since Christmas, and Nick had learned to be prepared. He had a little camping lantern that sat nicely on the small bathroom counter, casting odd shadows- but it was plenty enough to see by.

What he intended to be a fast shower got oddly waylaid. He got as far as scrubbing shampoo through his short hair, warm-ish water running over his back, when he heard the sound of the bedroom door opening. He cracked one eye, and was perhaps a bit overly startled to see the shape of Sam had actually made it all the way into the small bathroom. Moving so carefully. Hand to his side.

"Didn't think that you'd actually take me up on it." Nick said half to himself as he ducked his head under the spray to get the soap off his face.

"The blood I can deal with." Sam said thickly. Sounding like the tired was reall starting to catch up with him. "It's the smell that was starting to get to me. Demons just… it's a very specific smell. I never liked it."

"What I can't figure is why when you got to my house, you didn't go straight away for the washing off. You just sat at my table… like the creepy lurker that we both know you are."

Through the frosted glass of the shower door, Nick could see the other man very gingerly struggling out of his overshirt.

"I knew that one of the few things that you like less than finding me in your house uninvited was going to be finding me naked in your shower, in your house, uninvited." Sam hissed through his teeth as he attempted to free himself from the ruins of his tshirt.

Nick couldn't help himself, wished that he could but knew that he was utterly hopeless, as he popped the shower door open and stuck his head out. "You doing ok?"

It was hard to prove anything in awful yellow light, but the bruising that he'd seen earlier on the lower parts of Sam's ribs looked to creep all the way up his chest and over a shoulder.

"Were you… hit with a car this time?" Nick struggled to place where he knew that kind of patterning from.

"A cow." Sam seemed to be having a hard time getting his arms high enough to pull the shirt over his head.

And as much fun as it was to watch the man fighting with his clothes, Nick could only do it for so long. He turned off the shower and, dripping water all over the floor he went to the medicine cabinet and found the small pair of scissors. "A cow?" Carefully cutting the shirt from Sam, neck to navel. "Did it get a running start?"

Sam accepted the help in the same way he always did with Nick. So easy, no fighting. Just quiet acceptance that he was going to get taken care of. "No. I was very actually _hit_ with a cow. A dead one. Demon picked it up and threw it at me."

It oddly wasn't the most ridiculous thing that he'd ever told Nick.

With a sigh, he set the scissors on the counter sighed, tossing the remnants of the shirt into the trash bin. "Maybe not a tax accountant, but there are other safer jobs than this. Like maybe a crash test dummy."

"I'll consider your recommendation, doc." Sam pulled a towel off the rack and handed it to Nick. "Did you leave enough hot water for me?"

"Warm water." Nick wrapped the towel around his waist in a vague attempt at modesty. "Remember not to get your stitches wet."

Sam looked down at his gauzed side, then at the waiting shower, and a plan seemed to be forming in his head- but Nick interrupted with the very important question of "can you even turn enough to reach your back?"

"My back?"

"There's just as much blood back there." Nick pointed out.

"Oh…" Sam sighed, and it was obvious by the slump of his big, bruised shoulders, that he didn't have much left in him to deal with today.

Nick took one of those deep, cleansing breaths that always helped him in times like this. "Are you ok to stand at least?"

"Yes?"

"Good." Nick grabbed the washcloth from the shower and turned on the sink. "Just park that ass of yours on the edge of the counter."

With a tiny nod, the man let himself slump against the little corner where the bathroom counter met the wall. Then he held a hand out to Nick, seeming to think that he was going to be allowed to handle this cleaning thing all on his own. He was wrong though.

Nick mentally slipped back to his pre med days, quietly scrubbing the blood from Sam, being mindful of all those mottled blue and purple marks. The washrag came away so dark, and the water in the sink ran a sickly pink color the first few times Nick rinsed it out. "You know, I don't think that there has been a single time that you've shoved your way into my life where you havn't made things more complicated, one way or another."

"I don't mean to."

"Don't you?" Nick looked up from his work for just long enough to show that he was smiling and that there was no real weight to his complaints in that moment.

"Believe me, if I was trying, you'd notice."

And Sam seemed the sort of man who might actually be really bad at accepting this higher level of help. He'd always struck Nick as someone who was fairly self sufficient, even if he was constantly drawn to getting his ass handed to him by various monsters. But for now he stood there, or really leaned awkwardly. Favoring his side and looking like someone who had really just had an immensely shitty day.

"So, the tattoo is new." Nick made polite conversation, as he'd been taught to do back in medschool. Distracting upset patients had been first year training. "You didn't strike me as a tribal design kind of _bro_."

"It's, um, demon warding, actually." Sam sort of let his chin point to the weird star like pattern on his chest.

"Keep the demons out?"

"Yup."

"But doesn't prevent them from throwing livestock at you?"

"Nope."

Nick hid another smile, ducking his head as he nudged down the edge of Sam's jeans with the washcloth, making sure that he'd gotten the last few flakey smears of blood.

"Turn around." Nick nodded, satisfied with the work that he'd done on this side, and needing to find a reason to focus on something other than the way that no one was talking about the way that his fingers had strayed from their intended path and maybe lingered a bit too long in the hip area.

Sam raised a single eyebrow, and it got lost in that mess that he was calling his hair. " 'hmm, I feel like there's a joke in here somewhere." But still he turned around. Leaning his elbows on the counter and just hanging his head. The posture of a man who had crossed over to the other side of wanting to give up.

So, Nick tried to be quick about it, cleaning as efficiently and quickly as he could over the long lateral muscles down Sam's back. The bruising was negligible. Just a few splotches that looked like they'd come from very deliberate fists. But it wasn't bad. Certainly not by comparison. "Things look much nicer on this side,"

"Aw, Nick. You're gunna' make me blush." Sam chuckled with his head still low. His voice almost lost under the flow of water from the tap.

"Don't you start with me, because that offer to jab you right in your stitches still stands." It was hard for him not to encourage Sam. He did his best to stay strong and keep any hint of amusement from his voice. "I will give you such a poke."

Sam chuckled silently, His shoulders bouncing as he shook his head. "I can't tell if that's an offer, or a proper threat."

"Of course it's a proper threat. I'm very good at threats."

"No you're not." He was still laughing. "But I like you anyways."

It had been a long day. A bad day. For both of them.

But it seemed that despite his best efforts, somewhere deep inside, Nick had really, really missed this bastard right here- and there was something sort of wonderful about finally having him back.

He tossed the filthy washrag into the sink and turned off the water that had finally run cold. "Do you have something else to wear? Those jeans have seen better days."

"I've- yeah, out in the car." Sam slowly straightened, letting out the smallest pained noise under his breath. And then the idiot actually made like he planned to go all the way to the other side of the house for a clean change of clothes.

"Don't." Nick stopped him, that one word firm enough to surprise them both. "Here." He held out the sweatpants that he hadn't bothered to change into yet. "Put them on. We'll sort the rest out tomorrow after you've slept."

Seemingly too tired to argue, Sam took the offered pants and nodded. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah." Nick wasn't interested in hearing another one of Sam's millions of apologies. "Can you manage those on your own?"

And if the power hadn't been out, and they had more lighting than just the small lantern, it was possible that Nick would have been able to harbor a guess as to what the hell the look on the other man's face meant.

"I've got it." Sam finally said, about five seconds later than felt appropriate.

Like the majority of his decisions, Nick knew that he would regret this one before he put voice to the idea. Even still, that foreknowledge of 'bad' did nothing to slow him.

"You are aware of the fact that if you asked to kiss me right now, that my answer would be different from earlier, right?"

Sam didn't ask though.

Even if it had basically been spelled out for him that he should.

He just carefully set the sweatpants back on the counter, and even more carefully took Nick's face between his hands, before pulling him in and fitting their mouths together like it was their first time. There was no familiarity in the kiss. No assumptions made. Just slow, and curious, and so very hopeful.

And looking back, Nick supposed that it was Sam's unexpectedly, and unprecedented cautious approach that lead to them in bed together the next morning. Tangled up under all the blankets. Warm despite the fact that they were both fairly naked.

Nothing too exciting had happened after the shower- Sam had been too tired, Nick too overly aware of the bad road that he was merrily driving right back down even though he'd sworn to himself that he never would. But there had been no way that Sam's filthy pants were going to get between the clean sheets, and Nick hadn't wanted to get dressed just in case clothes would have been a hindrance should things go wonderfully wrong.

Other than a lot of heavy kissing, and a little light touching, they'd pretty much gone straight to sleep; and at five in the morning, that is precisely how Nick would have liked to still be, only Sam was talking and the noise interfered with his dreaming.

Grumpy at the interruption to his well earned rest, Nick lay there with his eyes closed, listening to the one sided conversation.

"It was just two demons- yeah- no, I'm fine." Sam was talking in a near whisper into his phone. "I, um… I stopped off in San Angelo for the night."

From the laughter that came muffled over the line, Nick assumed that the man was talking to his brother. Evidently, Dean was saying something that Sam didn't like, because he shifted where he was laying, rolling onto a side, away from Nick.

"You find Cas? - good. Good, I'm- what do you mean he'd joined a cult?"

Nick already had mixed feelings about this supposed 'Angel' that had been traveling with the Winchesters. His impression of the man had not improved. But that wasn't something that he felt like devoting too much time or thought to. Instead he burrowed himself deeper into the blankets and chased after the memory of sleep.

The movement seemed to catch Sam's attention, the man rolling over and oh so gently tucking Nick in before lightly touching his cheek.

"Dean, - no. Give me a day or two, I can meet you in… want to try for Reno?" There was a very long answer to that apparently, Sam laying there listening while his brother laid it all out. "So, no big cities. Ok. Yeah. I can find Mason- You want to try for three days? -Nick? um… he gave me a day or two before I have to clear out so I don't want to press him-"

"If he's not in a hurry," Nick yawned, still not bothering to open his eyes, "you can stay for a week or two."

Sam didn't move or say anything at first, then his fingers slowly trailed over Nick's cheek bone and dipping down along his jaw "Make that two weeks actually, Dean. When he wakes up," Sam kept up his low whisper, "I'll talk to him. See if I can't stay for a bit longer. Give you some time to help Cas settle down. Otherwise I'll look and see if there's any jobs between here and Mason- mm, ok. Yeah. Keep me updated- alright- get some sleep, jerk- bye."

Things got so pleasantly quiet, and in moments Nick was almost back asleep.

"Sorry if I woke you."

Nick grunted, annoyed that sleep was not the same priority for both of them. "Make it up to me tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?" Sam's lips lightly found Nick's forehead in a nearly sweet kiss.

"You're less sore. I'm more willing to make really bad choices." His jaw cracked softly as he yawned. "We'll figure something out."

Clumsily, Sam pressed their foreheads together. Settling against him, so close and so heartbreakingly comfortable. "You saying choices with me are bad choices?"

"I'm saying _you_ are a bad choice." Nick smiled into the easy contact. "My favorite bad choice."

And for once, just for the sake of variety, Sam actually stayed.

A little longer than he'd planned. Long enough for the two men to get into a couple disagreements that, to an outside observer, might have been considered fights. It was healthy. Nick wouldn't have fallen for it so so whole heartedly if everything had been just smiles, and joking, and kissing. There was no lovey 'honeymoon' phase for them. They'd known each other too long, and there'd been too many reasons to not be haplessly happy together.

But, even Nick had to admit that it was a good few weeks.

He was happy, even knowing that their time was unavoidably finite. Because Sam had to leave. He would always have to leave. It was who he was, and it was what he did.

And Nick hated that part of Sam… but he loved it too.

Wasn't brave enough to tell that to the man before he left to rejoin his hellish crusade.

Wasn't brave enough the next time Sam was passing through his part of the world either.

Or during any of their hundreds of phone calls made to eachother at odd hours of the night. So many pointless words shared over the miles between them. Stupid stories and quiet secrets.

It took nearly two years before Nick got up the courage, one night, to tell the other man about the horrible feelings that he had developed at some irrational point.

And there had never in Nick's life been anything even half as nerve wracking to say as those words to that awful train wreck of a man- but somehow it was worth it when he heard them repeated back.


End file.
